


Curt and Roland: A Teenage Love Story

by Gorgeouscurt



Category: Tears for Fears (Band)
Genre: M/M, RPF sexual content
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-21
Updated: 2020-10-13
Packaged: 2020-12-27 11:03:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 14
Words: 45,081
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21117731
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gorgeouscurt/pseuds/Gorgeouscurt
Summary: Curt and Roland meet at the tender age of thirteen and fall in love with each other. Young boys in love - what could go wrong? But more importantly, what could go right?





	1. Chapter 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> many thanks to the lovely n.janahi.n on Instagram for my beautiful book cover

CHAPTER ONE - HE LOVES ME

Roland played the last note of a new song he'd been working on and then turned to Curt, who was standing next to him at the piano. "What do you think? Still kind of rough, but that's basically it."

"I like it." Curt flashed his killer smile. "You're a song-writing genius, Ro." He glanced over his shoulder, scanning their school's music room to ensure they were alone before he bent down and slowly pressed his lips onto Roland's. Closing his eyes while his fourteen-year-old hormones raged pretty much out of control, Curt felt Roland's arm creep behind his neck and pull him closer. If only he could spend the rest of his life in the middle of this kiss . . . "Fuck!" He grabbed Roland when the three o'clock dismissal bell jarred them back into reality and practically yanked him up from the piano bench. "Come on! I gotta show you something!"

Gathering their books off the floor in the corner, they joined the sea of students out in the corridor and made their way to Curt's locker. Roland wanted to reach for Curt's hand as they walked and hold it in his, but he didn't dare. Not where everyone could see. They only touched each other in private. He eyed Curt when they stopped in front of his locker.

"I wrote that song for you, you know. You're the only one who can sing the lyrics. My voice sounds horrible when I sing them."

"Your voice does not sound horrible, Roland." Curt waited until the crowd in the locker area thinned out before he opened his. Then he motioned for Roland to peek inside.

"Oh, my God!" Roland slapped his hand over his mouth. "Where did you . . .?! How . . .?!"

"Shhh!" Curt looked around. "They had like five or six of them in the music room. Now there's one less. No big deal." He hid the contraband under his jacket as they left the campus and headed toward Roland's house, where they hung out in the afternoons to practice their songs.

Roland sighed while they waited to cross the street.

"What?"

"My boyfriend's a juvenile delinquent, that's what!" Roland laughed and bumped Curt's shoulder with his own. "What are we gonna do with a violin? I only play the guitar. And a little piano when I'm composing. Your instrument is your beautiful voice. We don't need a violin."

Curt wrinkled up his nose and scratched at the side of his head. "Well, I didn't think of that."

. . . . .

The phone was ringing while Roland fished in his pockets for his house key. He hurried inside to answer it, Curt following him in and closing the door behind them. Roland clutched the receiver in his hand tighter and tighter as he listened and ignored the fact that his knuckles were turning white.

Curt went into the room Roland shared with his two brothers and dropped his schoolbooks on Roland's bed. He scouted around for a minute, finally placing the violin under some of Roland's clothes in the closet. He knew something bad was going down for their band just by hearing the one-sided conversation happening in the kitchen.

Roland hung up and cursed under his breath. "That was Rick," he said, finding Curt and slumping down onto his bed beside him. "His dad got transferred and he's moving to London next week."

"Crap. There goes our bass player." Curt leaned into Roland's side, resting his head on his shoulder. "What are The Duckz gonna do now?"

Roland intertwined his fingers with Curt's. "We'll figure it out. We always do, don't we?"

"Hell, yes." Curt squeezed Roland's hand. Hadn't they been figuring things out together for about a year now? They were both thirteen when his friend Paul had knocked on his door with a new guy in tow. 'This is Roland,' Paul simply said when Curt let them in. 'Roland?' Curt repeated, checking out the exotic creature before him. Something about Roland's eyes captivated him right from the start. 'So you can sing then?' Roland said later when the three of them ended up listening to records in Curt's bedroom and Curt couldn't help crooning along to his favorite Blue Oyster Cult song. 'Maybe you could be in my band. I'm looking for a good singer.' Curt grinned at the guy with the pretty eyes his friend had brought over. 'Uh, yeah. I could do that.'

Little did he know how inseparable they would become from that point on, bonding over their love of music and quickly developing a best-friend relationship. About six months in, Roland couldn't take it any longer and tearfully confessed his physical attraction to Curt. Curt was ecstatic. No more stifling his burning desire for Roland. He took Roland's hand right there in the park they were cutting through and led him over by the trees where they could be alone. Barely into their teens, neither had ever been kissed, but self-consciously figuring _that_ out had turned into the best day of their lives.

"What are you thinking about?" Roland wrapped his arms around Curt and hugged him out of his daydream. "I see that look in your eyes."

"The day we met. I thought you were a foreign exchange student or something. You seemed strangely foreign."

"Strange? Me? You were wearing a fucking turban on your head!" Roland started to jab Curt in the ribs with his index fingers, poking him over and over. "You're the strange one!" he teased, wild squeals of laughter pouring from both of them as they tickled each other and roughhoused on his bed.

"Okay! Okay! I'm strange!" Curt held onto Roland when the snickering died out, maneuvering around until he was lying on top of him. The world grew silent when he peered into Roland's eyes. "Strangely in love with you."

Roland pulled Curt's face down with both hands. "You know I love you, too, Curt." The kiss was quiet and soft at first.

It didn't end that way.

Soon groping and pawing Roland's body, Curt's fingers found their way beneath his shirt and caressed his bare skin. He slid his tongue between Roland's lips and swirled it in circles, rutting against his boyfriend because he just couldn't stop. Roland's tongue danced with Curt's while he clung to him desperately, never wanting to let go. Only after Curt's last book fell to the floor with a thud did they gradually pry themselves apart.

Curt lifted his head and chest off of Roland and glanced at his watch. "It's almost five. Your mum's gonna be home."

"Uh-huh." Roland craved the taste of Curt's mouth again, but he knew they had to get up. He smoothed the messy blankets and tucked his shirt back in while Curt looked out the window and willed the symphony in his underwear away. Roland grabbed his guitar and the note paper he'd scrawled the new song lyrics on, handing it to Curt.

Curt focused on the first few lines: _When your intrusion's my illusion . . ._ Christ! Roland was deep! "Hey, Ro?"

Roland struck a chord, hearing in his head exactly where it would fit during the chorus. "Yeah?"

"I can learn to play the bass."

Roland's face lit up. "Yessss! Problem solved!" He sang the first verse as Curt read the lyrics on the paper, hating the sound of his own voice but adoring his creation as soon as Curt took over the vocals. Roland strummed along lightly and closed his eyes, awash in the gorgeous tones flowing so effortlessly from Curt. His mind drifted to earlier that afternoon when he'd played his new song on the piano and Curt said he liked it. His eyes flew open and his hands abandoned the guitar.

Curt stopped singing. "What is it?"

"We kissed at school today. We've never done that before."

Curt bit his bottom lip, drawing in a long breath. "There are so many things we've never done before, Roland." He wiggled his eyebrows up and down at him. "Sooo many things."

"I know." Roland contemplated the rug under his feet and then slowly raised his head. He held Curt's gaze with his own. "I'm just a little, um, scared?"

"Me, too!" Curt exhaled and broke into the cutest smile Roland had ever seen.

Roland re-positioned his hands on the guitar, grinning like crazy. "We'll figure it out."

. . . . .

Margaret Orzabal took off her coat and left it on a kitchen chair along with the tote bag she carried to work every day. Sixteen-year-old Carlos was due home from his after-school job any minute, and a quick glance into the living room, where eleven-year-old Julian was sprawled in front of the TV, assured her that he'd survived another afternoon on his own. She kissed his forehead and asked about his day to the strains of beautifully sung harmonies wafting out of the bedroom and filling the house.

Roland. Her unbelievably talented middle son. Always making music with his best friend. She walked down the hall and stood in the doorway for a moment before she waved. "Sounds great, guys."

Curt smiled at her. "Thanks, Mrs. O."

Roland nodded in her direction and opened his mouth wider, producing a note an octave higher than the previous note without taking a breath in between. "Curt, can you hit G sharp when I do that? Let's try it."

Margaret turned to go start dinner, just happening to glimpse down at the floor near the foot of Roland's bed. Boys. She had a houseful of adolescent boys. Which was why nothing was ever where it belonged. Something would be terribly wrong if there _weren't_ schoolbooks scattered all over the floor!

. . . . .

Curt ate at Roland's house that night. He put his plate in the sink afterward and thanked Mrs. O, who told him he was welcome to stay for dinner anytime he'd like. "Okay!" he blurted out, wishing his own mum was half as nice as Roland's.

Roland went outside with him a few minutes later when Curt realized how late it was and said he had to leave. Thank God the light on the side of the house was broken. Roland motioned for Curt to follow him into the darkness. "See you tomorrow." He hung his arms around Curt's neck and kissed him good-bye. "We sounded pretty good today, didn't we?"

Curt linked his fingers together behind Roland's waist. "I keep telling you your voice is perfect."

"Only when it's blended with yours. You know what that means, right?"

"Um . . ." Curt squinted up at the stars, channeling the future. "That we have to keep singing together till we're old and gray?"

Roland laughed at the mental image of himself and Curt as old men. Then he tipped his forehead down and rested it on Curt's. "I was gonna say it means you can never leave me. But I guess you just said the same thing."

Curt's breath caught in his throat. He couldn't even imagine his life without Roland. He turned his face and whispered in his ear. "I'll never leave you, Ro."

. . . . .

Roland was floating on cloud nine when he went back into the house. Curt loved him and that's all that mattered. Well, the endless music in his brain clawing to get out all the time was important, too, but Curt owned his heart. And that was the only thing that truly mattered. He was still smiling at the thought of growing old with him as he opened the fridge and reached for the milk. He unscrewed the cap, brought the slippery glass bottle up to his mouth for a drink, and suddenly he was wearing the milk!

Roland let out a shriek as the bottle sailed through his hands on the way to its splattered fate on the kitchen floor, the cold liquid inside spilling out and drenching the front of his shirt and jeans. He cursed out loud, which he normally didn't do when his mum was around, and stared at the giant mess.

"What happened!?" she yelled, dropping her paperback novel and bolting out of her chair in the living room. One look at her milk-covered son and the disaster at his feet answered her question. "Roland! I've told you a thousand times not to drink out of the milk bottle! Get a glass!"

"I'm so sorry, Mum. It was an accident." He started to unbutton his soggy shirt and take it off. "I'll clean it up."

Margaret looked at him and sighed. "I know it was an accident. I need to do a load of laundry anyway. Get out of those wet clothes and I'll put them in the wash with everything else. And Roland?"

"Yeah?"

"I'll take care of this. Just get cleaned up and do your homework." She didn't need him cutting himself on a shard of glass.

Roland smiled at his mum. A charming smile that reached his eyes even though he was freezing. "Okay. And I really am sorry."

"Just use a glass from now on."

"I will."

. . . . .

A shower later, he was dry and warm again and rummaging through his closet for a tee shirt and a pair of sweatpants. He found them thrown on top of a violin. The violin! He hadn't thought about it since that afternoon, but there it was right at his fingertips. Just waiting to be examined. Just waiting for a little personal attention. Roland held the instrument in his hands and admired its beauty. Learning to play it intrigued him, but . . . no bow. His boyfriend wasn't very good at juvenile delinquency at all.

Roland grabbed Curt's history book off the floor and used it to do his homework because he'd managed to get home without his own. Then he set the alarm for six a.m. in the middle of a gaping yawn, figuring he'd just go to bed early. He only needed Curt's picture under his pillow and he'd be sleeping peacefully, dreaming of him and music.

He went into the bathroom to get his dirty clothes and stopped dead in his tracks. Noooo! Panic started to set in when he remembered he hadn't left them in the bathroom while he showered because he'd given them to his mum to wash. How could he have been so stupid? How could he have forgotten about Curt's picture? Roland rushed out to the kitchen to see if his mum had started the laundry yet, his pulse racing.

Please, universe! Please just let-

"Roland?" Margaret was standing near the washing machine, peering down at his most prized possession. "I emptied your pockets before I put your clothes in the wash and found this folded-up picture. It's Curt sleeping."

Fuck! "Yeah, I . . . I, um . . . took it while he was napping on the couch one day." Double fuck!

"Why was it in your pocket?"

What a nightmare! Roland felt nauseous. "I just carry it with me 'cause I, uh, I think it's a good picture." He stopped there, omitting the part about it living in his pocket every single day and being tucked under his pillow every night. It never left his side, but she didn't need to know that. FOR CHRIST'S SAKE! "Can I have it back now?"

"It _is_ a good picture. Curt's a very nice-looking boy." Still eyeing the image, she fell silent as things began to crystallize in her mind. Roland spending all of his time with Curt. Talking about him nonstop from the day they met. She thought of the looks Roland constantly shot him during dinner and everything seemed to make sense. Handing him the picture, she confronted him face-to-face. "Roland, do you have feelings for Curt?"

"Feelings?" He blinked too many times and shook his head. "We're best friends. We're in a band at school together." Hanging his head, he studied the linoleum, his voice trailing off. "We like making music together . . ."

"You know what I mean. Do you _like_ him? In a special way?"

Roland took a deep breath. He guessed he was doing this. Right here. Right now. "Please don't make me answer that."

"I'll take that as a yes." Margaret opened the washer when it stopped spinning and removed a few things. "But don't be disappointed when he doesn't reciprocate your feelings." The shift in her tone was scary.

Roland scrunched up one side of his face. "What are you talking about?"

"Curt. He doesn't emit any gay vibes at all. You may have your little crush on him, but I'm sure he'll just laugh it off." She turned away and threw some shirts in the dryer. "Isn't he fourteen, too? He's probably going to show up with a girlfriend any day now."

The membranes in Roland's nose were stinging. He fought to keep it together, but a lone tear rolled down his cheek. So this is what it felt like to lose a mother. "You're wrong."

"What?"

Roland stood taller and waited for her to look him in the eye. "You're wrong. He loves me."


	2. Chapter 2

CHAPTER TWO - CHOIRBOYS

Curt's arms shot up and covered his face, the defensive move quick as lightning and thankfully deflecting the blow heading straight for his cheek. He winced and twisted away from his mum's boyfriend. "Leave me alone, Gary! What are you doing?" 

"Trying to teach you a lesson, you little punk!" Gary sneered and ran a hand through his greasy hair. He backed Curt up against the door, snarling like a junkyard dog. "What time did you get home last night? Nine o'clock? Your curfew is eight and you know it!"

"I ate dinner at Roland's. The time just got away from me." Curt tried to escape, but Gary's hand flew up to the front of his neck and pressed into his windpipe. Trapped and helpless, he gasped for air.

Gary squeezed harder. "Next time you're late, you won't be so lucky! Go on! Get to school!" He dropped his hand from Curt's neck and turned away from him.

Curt grabbed his backpack, bolting out of the door before his mum's evil boyfriend could change his mind and come at him again. Knowing all too well what the man was capable of, he counted himself lucky this time. No slaps in the face or punches in the gut. He'd managed to not get strangled, so that was a good thing.

He made it to the park he and Roland cut through every morning on their way to school in record time, as if hurrying now would somehow help the next four years pass any faster. Reaching eighteen and leaving home for good had been his main aspiration ever since his mum let Gary move in with them and he started beating him up. Four more years . . . God, it always seemed like such an eternity when he thought about it. 

Curt looked up and smiled when he saw Roland walking toward him, a smile that faded the closer Roland came. Roland was not okay. Curt _knew_ him. And this concave, defeated person approaching was not him. He opened his arms and Roland shuffled straight into them. "Hey." Curt pecked his lips. "What's the matter?"

Roland lowered his head onto Curt's chest. "Oh, nothing. Just my life." He sighed, and Curt tightened his arms around him. "It'll never be the same again."

"O-kayyy . . ." Curt waited for more. The key with Roland was always patience. He would spill his guts if you just gave him enough time. But he seemed content to let this one linger unexplained. Curt tried to jump-start him after a few minutes of silence. "Can you be a little more specific?" 

"She knows." Roland's forehead rolled back and forth, still digging into Curt's chest. "My mum, she knows."

"Knows what? Look at me, Roland." Curt placed two fingers under his chin and raised it. "Your mum knows what?"

Roland finally made eye contact, the sadness on his face killing Curt. "She knows about us. She found your picture in my pocket and pieced everything together and asked me flat out if I had feelings for you. Can you believe that?! I tried to lie my way out of it, but I just couldn't." Coming up for air, he shook his head, his eyes welling with moisture. "She hates me now. She doesn't want a gay son." Roland fell back into Curt's embrace as the first tear trickled down his face. 

Curt stood there, quietly holding his boyfriend. He wasn't often speechless, but his mind was racing in a hundred directions at once. How long would it be until his own mum found out? And Gary?! Christ! He could see his battered face in the mirror as plain as day. But he and Roland loved each other. It was their reality and they couldn't change it. Maybe it was time to stop hiding. "I don't think she could ever hate you," eventually found its way out of his mouth.

"She's disappointed in me. She wouldn't even look at me this morning before I left."

"Ouch." Curt took Roland's face in his hands. "That's gotta hurt." He kissed him tenderly and wiped the tears from his cheeks with his thumbs. "Do you want to go back to being best friends only? To get in your mum's good graces again?"

"Okay, now you're being insane." The corners of Roland's mouth curved upward even as he sniffled. "I'm sharing my trauma with you, and you're being fucking insane." He dragged the back of his hand across his drippy nose.

Curt grinned. The Roland he knew and loved was still in there. He caught a glimpse of the fire returning to his eyes. "Just asking. That's all."

"I love you, Curt Smith. Who needs a mother anyway?" 

"Exactly. Come on." Curt reached for Roland's hand as they started out of the park and on to school. "I'm not ashamed to love you, Roland. I don't care who knows it." 

"I knew you were gonna say that." Roland unzipped his backpack as they walked, finding Curt's history book and handing it to him. "Your homework's in there, too."

"Homework? I didn't do any homewor-"

"I did it for you. Just did mine twice and tried to make the second one look like your handwriting. We don't need you in deep shit with your mum over bad grades."

"No, we don't. Thanks, Ro." Curt shuddered to himself. If Roland only knew the harm he'd probably saved him from. Gary went ballistic when he brought home bad grades. "Didn't I leave some other books at your house, too?"

"Uh-huh. I think one of them is under my bed." 

Curt nodded. His book was under Roland's bed. They may have been a pair of musically gifted individuals, but they were FOURTEEN! "Roland?"

"Yeah?" 

"You had a picture of me in your pocket?"

. . . . .

Curt kept diligent track of the time that afternoon at Roland's house. He hated to have to stop just as they were perfecting an intricate rhythm, but he valued his head being attached to his body. He knew from experience that getting home early a few days in a row would be to his advantage, so it was only four-thirty when he told Roland he had to leave. "Fucking Gary," he scoffed. "He's on the warpath again."

"That douche." Roland felt for Curt. Always having to placate a nasty louse who wasn't even his father. "See you tomorrow. I'll try not to have a breakdown first thing in the morning." 

They were both laughing when Curt walked out of the bedroom. No hug or kiss good-bye because Roland's brothers were home. The whole 'I love you and I don't care who knows it' thing was barely ten hours old. No need to rush it.

Carlos looked up from his sandwich as Curt headed for the door. "Bye, Curt. You guys sound great together."

"Uh, thanks." Curt couldn't remember Roland's older brother ever talking to him before. "See ya."

Roland was playing a new riff he liked repeatedly when Carlos came into the room a few minutes later. Sharing a bedroom since Roland was born, they'd finally learned to peacefully coexist in the small space after years of squabbling when they were younger. Pretty much ignoring each other seemed to do the trick, which was why Roland didn't much appreciate the interruption when he realized his brother was trying to get his attention.

He stopped playing, rather annoyed. "What?"

"I said that sounds good."

"Okay." Roland looked around for a pencil and a sheet of staff paper.

"Let's talk, Ro. Can you stop working for a bit?" Carlos sat on his bed, waiting for Roland to put his guitar on its stand.

Roland did no such thing. But he did stare at Carlos as if he'd dropped in from outer space. "You want to talk? About what?"

Carlos smiled at him. "Curt seems like a nice guy."

Hell, no. This was not gonna happen. "Look, if you came in here to hassle me, you can forget it."

"I'm not here to hassle you. Honest. I just heard Mum giving you a hard time last night, and I wanted to tell you there's nothing wrong with being ga-"

"Oh, my God!" Roland hurried toward the bedroom door to close it. "Don't say that where Julian can hear you!"

"Relax, okay? I pried Julian away from his cartoons and gave him some money to go get an ice cream at the corner market. It's only us. I'm on your side, Ro." 

Roland looked skeptical. But open. He inched away from the door, removing his guitar from around his neck. "You heard Mum's reaction? I think I killed her. She wasn't ready for that."

"No, she wasn't. Only because her generation is conditioned to believe it's wrong. All we can do is hope she gets her head out of her ass one of these days." Carlos laughed along with Roland, proud of himself for successfully breaking the ice with his brother. He was relieved when Roland finally put his guitar away and flopped down on his own bed. 

"How long have you known? About Curt and me, I mean." 

"I'd had my suspicions for a couple of months. But I knew I was right last night when it was my turn to clean up the kitchen after dinner. You know that dark side of the house?"

"Uh-huh." Roland slowly shook his head. Did he want to hear the rest?

"It's right under the kitchen window. I swear I wasn't spying, but I could see your outlines in the darkness when I reached up to close the curtains."

"Well, that's fucking embarrassing." Roland grabbed his pillow and threw it at Carlos. "I suppose you heard us, too?"

"Your voices were muffled. I didn't hear anything. I'm happy for you, Ro. I meant it when I said Curt's a nice guy. I'm happy you're together."

"Really?"

"Yeah. You're my bro. I'll always want good things for you."

Who knew Carlos could be this cool? Certainly not Roland. He guessed that was because he never spent any time talking to him before. Maybe they should stop ignoring each other. He broke down and smiled at him. "That dark side of the house _is_ pretty convenient, you know?" 

"Who do you think unscrewed the light bulb?"

"You're kidding me!" Roland got up and high-fived his genius of a brother. "Good work!"

Carlos didn't want to brag. But, hey, it _was_ good work! "I've made out with a few girls in that spot. Well, two. But still . . ."

The fire in Roland's eyes was definitely back. "I foresee a permanently broken light on the side of this house. At least until Julian grows up and gets to reap the benefits! Carlos, thank you. Thank you for not making me feel like a freak. That means a lot to me."

"Roland, you're perfectly normal. I'll kick anyone's ass who says different." Carlos stopped for a minute and thought. "Except you work too much. Life is about so much more than working."

"Writing songs? That's not work. Not to me, anyway."

I know. But you can't stay in here with your music all the time. Go out and have some fun. In fact . . . " 

Roland could see the wheels turning in Carlos's brain. At this point, he didn't think he could be any more shocked at what would come out of his mouth than he'd been since Carlos walked in their bedroom. Wrong!

" . . . I'm going to an upperclassman's party Friday night. Why don't you come with me?"

Roland tried to process what was happening. Maybe he did work too much! He eyed his brother and hoped he wasn't pushing his luck. "Can Curt come with us?" 

"Duh! He works too much, too! Why do you think I even mentioned it to you?"

. . . . .

Roland was on a mission the next afternoon. He told Curt they weren't going to practice at his house because they were going to the music store to buy a bow.

"A bow?" Curt wrinkled up his forehead. 

"Yeah, a bow. How else am I going to learn to play that violin in my closet?"

Curt laughed. He should have known Roland would be obsessed with learning to play it. Is that why he took it in the first place? But as soon as they set foot in the music store, their true mission that day became clear.

It was hanging on the back wall, calling Curt's name. He zeroed in on it like a homing pigeon. "Roland, look. This is what I need."

Roland was two steps ahead of him. "You totally need that. Let me do the talking."

Thirty minutes later, two lads spilled out of the Bath Music Store positively giddy. Roland carried the modestly priced bow he'd purchased in one hand and slung the other behind Curt's waist, his blinding smile threatening to split his face in half as they headed home.

Curt draped his arm around Roland's shoulders and giggled like a girl. "You're a pretty good fence, you know that?! God, it felt so good to hold that bass guitar in my hands. Can't believe it'll be mine in three days." He turned his face sideways and looked at Roland. "Why did you tell him three days, though? We could bring the violin in tomorrow and make the swap."

"Come on, Curt. It's gonna take me three days to teach myself how to play it." Roland leaned into Curt and kissed his cheek. Right on the sidewalk. In broad daylight. Not caring who might see or what they might think. "What are you doing Friday night?"

"I don't know. Why?"

"Wanna go on a date with me?"

"A date?" Curt's eyebrows arched halfway up into his forehead. "We've never gone on a date before."

"There are sooo many things we've never done before, remember?" Roland laughed like a madman. "Let's start doing 'em, Curt!"

. . . . .

Roland sat on the stairs with his boyfriend, taking in the outrageous party exploding all around him. Deafening tunes blasting through the stereo system's huge speakers. Wild, drunken teenagers dancing, singing, making out everywhere, and drinking some more. The stoners gathered in a circle in the kitchen, passing a joint around. He saw Curt smile at him out of the corner of his eye. "Great party, isn't it?"

"Yup!" Too bad we're scared shitless, frozen on these stairs, he thought.

That's when Carlos tripped up in front of them, a paper cup full of beer in either hand and two Barbie dolls hanging all over him. "You guys look like a couple of choirboys sitting here. You gotta loosen up." He handed a cup to each of them and laughed. "The keg's out back when you want more. You're welcome!"


	3. Chapter 3

CHAPTER THREE - FIRST DOOR ON THE RIGHT

Curt studied the paper cup in his hand and then glanced over at Roland, who was contemplating his own cup and sporting the most mischievous grin he'd ever seen. He smiled as they shrugged at each other. When in Rome . . . 

Roland wasn't prepared for the bitter taste, but after an initial dainty sip he downed three big gulps and shook his head. "Not exactly soda, but I could learn to like it!" He laughed out loud when Curt made a funny face and started to drink. "Carlos was right. We do need to work less and start having some fun, Curt."

"Your brother is a wise man," Curt mumbled, swallowing half of his beer in one go. "He knows about us, too, then?"

"Yeah, but it's alright. He understands. He's . . . happy for us." 

"Wise man." Curt held his cup up high and clinked it against Roland's when he lifted his. He scooted nearer to him on the step after they drained them dry. "Are we having fun yet?" he asked, engulfing Roland's torso in his arms and sticking his tongue in his mouth. 

Roland's hands wove around Curt's neck while he sucked on his tongue. He pulled him closer and closer, practically onto his lap, feeling as if time would surely end because he couldn't get enough of him. He rolled his tongue around Curt's before he poked it farther down his throat, crushing their chests together even harder. Was that a whimper emanating from his boyfriend? 

Barely aware of the outside world, the sound of a door opening and footsteps echoing down the staircase registered somewhere in the back of their brains. Still glued together, they sensed the half-drunk, physically sated seventeen-year-olds artfully making their way around them. 

"Uh-oh. Looks like someone needs the bedroom we just vacated," the prom queen told her boyfriend, giggling like a . . . well, like a prom queen.

"First door on the right, guys," he tried to be helpful. "The other rooms are _occupied,_ as they say." Laughing along with his girlfriend, the football jock hoisted her up in his arms and stumbled back into the party.

Curt separated from Roland ever so slightly and peered into his eyes. On their feet in about five seconds, he held his hand out and waited for Roland to take it. His heart was pounding as he led him up to the second story and through the first door on the right. "This is better? No interruptions?"

"Way better." Roland closed the door behind them and locked it. He turned around to find Curt's hand waiting for him again, this time leading him to the bed. He ripped off his jacket and shirt and dropped them to the floor before he crawled to the center of it and lay on his back. 

Curt stared at him, wide-eyed and incredulous. "You're killing me here, Roland. Fucking killing me." Already feeling a tightness in his jeans, he shinnied out of his own shirt and threw it down. Then he turned off the light and nestled in beside Roland, hardly believing they were alone in this room. Attracted to his body like a moth to a flame, Curt's fingertips were magnetically drawn to Roland's bare chest. He looked at him and smiled when they started to lightly skim back and forth. "God, you're so beautiful, Ro." Inching them lower and lower until they reached the taut skin on his belly, Curt traced imaginary figure eights across Roland's navel. 

Every nerve ending Roland possessed was on fire. Tingling all over, he turned his face and pressed his lips onto Curt's, wanting this to never end. He closed his eyes while they kissed, forgetting how to breathe when he felt Curt's hand slowly creeping even lower. First burrowing beneath his jeans. Then into his underwear. He quivered with sensation as Curt reached between his legs.

Curt's fingers closed around Roland's stiffness. "Is . . . is this okay?" he whispered, kneading him up and down. "I'll quit if you want me to."

Roland was floating in another place. The kind of place where stopping was not an option. He opened his eyes and found Curt gazing at him. "I might have to kill you if you quit doing that."

Curt grinned. Fuck! He'd dreamed of touching him for so long! He squeezed tighter and jerked him quicker, listening to his jagged, irregular breaths until they ceased altogether and Roland cried out with a sharp gasp. He felt Roland's hips buck upward involuntarily, and a moment later his fingers were slick with his sticky emission. Curt's pulse raced as fast as Roland's when he leaned over and smothered his lips with his own. Unable to focus on much else, he straddled his boyfriend's thigh, grinding himself into his femur as he slid his hand out of his jeans.

Melting a little inside, Roland thought of all the times they'd made out on his bed at home. He'd felt Curt hard on top of him before, but what was happening against his leg right then was no child's play. Curt had morphed into a bundle of urgent need, and Roland desired nothing more than to help him out with that. A sense of urgency burned in his own gut as his hands roamed all over Curt's body, eventually finding their way to his waist. Not asking permission, he quietly opened his belt and unzipped his fly. 

Curt stopped kissing him and looked in his eyes. "Roland, I-"

"Shhh." Roland sat up and clasped his fist around the base of Curt's throbbing erection. Then he bent forward and took him into his mouth. Not really knowing what he was doing, he figured he was doing it right when he heard the string of obscenities tumbling out of Curt unchecked. 

Curt thought he'd died and gone to heaven. He finally lay back and relaxed while Roland licked and sucked him to the brink of relief. Oozing beads of pearly liquid, he moaned a warning of the rest's inevitable escape, yet his boyfriend didn't stop. Lost somewhere in the stratosphere, he heaved his breath in and out as Roland swallowed every last drop he gave him. 

His heartbeat was still thumping in his chest when he reached out for Roland. Pulling him back down beside himself, he held him close. "You're unbelievable, Ro."

"Felt okay?"

"Closest thing to heaven." 

Roland turned into Curt and buried his face in the side of his neck. "You touching me was amazing." 

Clinging to each other in the darkness, they wanted to stay like that forever, but the impatient couple banging on the door and complaining that it was their turn now kind of ruined that plan. 

. . . . .

Carlos randomly caught sight of his brother and his boyfriend mingling in the backyard near the keg with beers in their hands. They were talking to his friend Tania, who played the piano at almost concert level. He laughed to himself when they exchanged phone numbers with her. He should have seen that one coming.

About three hours later, it was close to midnight when he actually went looking for them because their ride was leaving. He found Roland in Curt's arms while they slow-danced to a sappy power ballad, surrounded by a few other indivisible couples also hopelessly in love. He sidled up to them and got their attention. "Jim's gotta go. Meet us at the car after this song." 

Jim fished his keys out of his pocket. He looked at Carlos as they started for his car. "Little dudes are really into each other, aren't they?" 

Carlos stopped walking. "Yeah. So . . .?"

"Nothing. Nothing. Just stating a fact." Jim held his palms up in front of himself, truce-style. "Just stating a fact, that's all."

Carlos exhaled and shook his head. "That's what I thought." But he'd be on the lookout. The slightest bit of flack out of Jim from that point forward and he was changing chemistry lab partners. 

. . . . .

Roland waited for Curt in the park the next day, holding the violin and bow in his hands and absolutely incapable of suppressing the ear-to-ear grin on his face. It was a stellar Saturday afternoon for so many reasons. They were going back to the music store to get Curt's bass guitar, for one. But it was also the day after the most beautiful night they'd ever had together. 

He still felt as if he were dreaming every time he thought about being in that bedroom with Curt at the party. Did they really do those things with each other? Yes, they did, and reliving them yet again unleashed another swarm of butterflies in the pit of his stomach. He just wanted to hug his boyfriend and tell him that he loved him.

But Curt was late. Roland checked his watch. They'd planned to meet in the park at one o'clock, and it was already one-fifteen. He decided to head toward Curt's house, thinking he'd run into him along the way, but Roland found himself on Curt's doorstep with still no sign of him. He knocked once and waited a reasonable length of time before he knocked again. Then he rang the bell. Confused and more than a little worried, he started to leave just when the door slowly opened from the inside. 

He turned around and let out a shocked cry. "Curt! Oh, my God! You're hurt; what happened?!"

Curt looked at Roland through hollow eyes, tears streaming down his face while he covered his black and purple shiner with one hand and clutched his rib cage with the other. Falling into his boyfriend's arms, he cried on his shoulder. 

Roland held him as he wept. Supporting most of his weight while he slumped onto his shoulder, he gently caressed his back and arms. "It's okay. It's okay. I've got you," he repeated over and over, horrified to find him like this yet wanting to be strong.

Curt tried to pull himself together, but the longer he sobbed the more difficult it became. He'd been keeping everything in for months now. All the bottled up rage. The helplessness. The sheer frustration of living in a never-ending hell. Collapsed on Roland, he felt powerless to stop all his emotions from gushing out. He was just grateful his boyfriend was there to catch them. He attempted to wipe at his eyes so they could talk, but his sore ribs limited his range of motion. Sighing, he ended up resting his palm on the small of Roland's back instead. 

"Here. Let me." Roland's fingers crept across Curt's face, absorbing as much moisture as they could while steering clear of the sensitive area around his black eye. "Come on. Let's get you back inside, okay?" He started to take charge, only because he had to. He'd never seen Curt hurt and vulnerable before. "That's it. I've got you," he told him every step of the way.

Still holding his rib cage, Curt relied on Roland's help and hobbled over to the couch. Lowering himself to sit was an ordeal. "Thanks, Ro," he managed, his face contorted in pain. 

Roland carefully sat beside him. "What happened? You're hurting so bad. Did you fall or something?" 

Staring at the floor, Curt's posture drooped and his eyes welled up again. Where or how to even begin escaped him. It'd been his secret for so long. He took a deep breath as a single teardrop trickled down his cheek.

Roland felt like crying himself. He leaned down and kissed Curt's tear away. "It's me, Curt. You can tell me. What happened?"

Curt finally peered into Roland's eyes. He exhaled, defeated and tired. Tired of keeping it to himself. "But you can't tell anybody. No one knows. Promise you won't tell."

"I promise. Of course, I promise." Roland reached for Curt's hand and held it in his. "What is it?"

Curt looked back down at the floor. He hesitated for a long moment and then quietly let Roland into his nightmare. "Gary . . . he drinks. He got drunk this morning and came into my room when I was getting ready to leave, and he-"

"That bastard!" Roland jumped up off the couch, fueled by an instant shot of fury. "He did this to you?! That fucking bastard!"

"Calm down, Ro. Freaking out doesn't do any good. Believe me. I've been there. It's useless." Curt waited for Roland to quit pacing. "I tried to get away from him, but I wasn't fast enough. He punched me in the face and kicked me in the ribs after I fell." 

"And your mum just let him do it?"

"He never does it when she's around."

"Wait a minute." Roland's eyes grew wider. "This isn't the first time?" He felt sick when Curt slowly shook his head back and forth. "Oh, my God, Curt. I didn't know . . ." 

"He always threatens to kill me if I tell anyone. And I'm sure he would. That's why you have to swear you'll never say anything either. Please, Roland. You're the only one I've ever told."

"I already promised you. I'll never tell." Roland found himself blinking back his own tears. How long had his boyfriend been suffering in silence? In what universe was this remotely fair? He sat back down, wondering aloud. "But I've never seen a mark on you before. You're hiding them?"

"He's left a few cuts and bruises on my back. Once on my arm. I wore long sleeves that day." Curt gingerly felt around his eye socket. "Never anything like this, though. He's drinking more and getting more out of control. I don't know why he comes after me and not my brothers. Don't be mad at me for keeping it from you. I just didn't know what to do. I still don't." 

Roland put his arms around Curt, taking them right back when he flinched. "Your ribs! Sorry! I can see why you didn't say anything with that asshole threatening you like that. But tell me from now on, okay? When you hurt, I hurt."

"Like your mum. The way she's treating you hurts me as much as it hurts you." Curt zoned out for a minute, wrapping his mind around their lives. Then he took Roland into his arms. Despite the hurting. "At least we can suffer together. Always be there for each other. We can get through anything together, Ro."

Roland's eyes were closed when Curt kissed him. That swarm of butterflies was loose in his stomach again. Maybe they'd make it to their fifteenth birthdays after all. Together. He rested his forehead on Curt's when the kiss ended. "You've always been stronger than me, Curt. I love you for that."

"I'm not strong, Roland. Wanna know another secret?"

Did he want to know? He nodded anyway.

"I feel broken inside."

. . . . .

Curt took it easy all day Sunday, resting in his room and lying to his mum (under direct orders from her bullying boyfriend) that he'd clumsily walked into a door jamb and nearly knocked himself out. Hence the nasty shiner and sore rib cage. Roland came over to see him in the afternoon, and they talked on the phone that night, limited in both instances to discussing music since Curt's whole family was home and milling about. Neither had ever been happier to see a Monday roll around. 

Feeling a little better, Curt stuck to his story of wrestling with a door jamb to teachers and classmates who stared at his discolored eye. As soon as school was out, he and Roland hurried back to his house to pick up the violin and bow from under his bed, where they were stashed when Roland came over the day of _the incident._ Then Curt and Roland took off again, deliriously excited. 

"I can't wait to get that bass, Ro! Nothing can go wrong this time!"

Roland squinted out at the traffic in front of the music store. "Unless we get hit by a bus or something. You're going to be a great bass player, Curt. I can feel it." 

"The Duckz are gonna kill at their next gig with their new bassist-slash-singer!" Curt laced his fingers between Roland's as they went inside. "I just hope Tania meant it when she said her dad could give me a few lessons." He spotted the owner and walked up to him. "Hi. Remember us?"

The white-haired gentleman glimpsed at the violin and bow in Roland's other hand. "Roland, right? The deal maker!" He laughed at his own joke and then studied Curt's face. "And you . . . 've got a black eye." 

Roland couldn't help himself. "My boyfriend was in a fight."

"You should see the other guy. I'm Curt." Grinning, he turned around and scanned the back wall, momentarily crushed because the bass guitar had disappeared. He sighed in relief while the owner bent down and retrieved it from behind the counter.

"Right here. Been saving her for you. I'm Thomas, by the way." 

Curt's fingers finally separated from Roland's as their world began to shine a little brighter. He reached for the instrument when Thomas held it up, handling it with respect.

Thomas looked over at Roland again. "Let's check out this violin, shall we?" 

Roland prayed it would pass his inspection. He held his breath until Thomas set it aside and nodded. "We've got a deal, then?" 

"We've got a deal." Thomas shook Roland's hand. "Pleasure doing business with you." He almost didn't want to disturb Curt, who was in another dimension adoring his baby. "She couldn't belong to a more deserving young man." 

"Thank you, Thomas." Curt shook hands with him. "I'll take good care of her. She's beautiful, isn't she, Ro?"

"She is. So Curt's gonna need a shoulder strap with his new bass," Roland told Thomas. "What do you have in stock?" Waiting for him to take a few out of the display case, Roland compared them with each other while Curt looked on. He chose the one with the most padding and attached it to the bass. Then he held it up, helping Curt sling it around his neck as he ducked. Roland winced when Curt did, knowing his midsection was still a little tender. "You okay?"

"I'm fine." 

Thomas eyed the teenagers, fascinated by their bond and Roland's obvious expertise. He watched him adjust the strap's length until the bass hung at the perfect height in front of Curt. "You play, too?" he asked him.

"Guitar. Been playing since I was nine." 

"He's amazing." Curt aimed his killer smile at his boyfriend. "And an incredible songwriter."

Roland smiled back. "Curt sings like an angel. He's gonna be tearing up this bass pretty soon." 

Thomas glanced from Curt to Roland and then back to Curt again, unable to contain his own wide smile. "Why don't you lads just kiss already?"


	4. Chapter 4

CHAPTER FOUR - CAN YOU ADOPT US?

Curt gawked upward at the stately manor before him, not quite believing his eyes. He elbowed Roland, who was having trouble closing his gaping mouth. "This can't be it, can it?"

"I don't think so. What's the address again?"

Reaching into his pocket, Curt pulled out the note paper Tania had given him and read it aloud. "Three eighty-nine Woodland. This is it. I can't believe she lives here."

Roland took in the sprawling lawn and rose garden along the path to the door. "Damn. Carlos didn't tell me she's rich."

"This is probably a mistake, Ro. Maybe we should just go back home."

Roland grasped Curt's arm. "We're here now. Might as well check it out." He rang the bell and waited with his boyfriend, both of them taken aback when a uniformed housekeeper answered the door a few moments later. He swallowed hard. "Hi. Um, we're not sure if this is the right place, but we're here to see a Mr. Borelli?"

"Ah, you must be Tania's friends. Yes, you've found us. Come in, lads." She closed the door behind them after they entered the spacious foyer. "Maestro Borelli will be right down. He's expecting you."

Curt and Roland stared at each other, their eyes wide as saucers. Maestro?

"Why don't you make yourselves comfortable in his study? Right this way." Ushering them into an elegantly appointed room, the likes of which they'd only read about in sweeping novels, the housekeeper nodded when they thanked her and then made herself scarce. 

Still clutching the handle on his bass guitar's case, Curt slowly looked around, mesmerized by the plush blue and ivory decor and the small fire glowing in the stone fireplace. "Oh, my God, Ro. What have I gotten myself into?"

"I don't know, but it's beautiful." Roland couldn't take his eyes off of the mahogany grand piano in the corner. Or the array of string instruments on their stands nearby. Not only a guitar and bass, but also a cello and costly violin. "Tania just said her dad plays bass in a trio. Seems like she left out some vital information." Bending forward with his hands behind his back, Roland was admiring the violin when their host walked into his study.

"Sorry to keep you waiting. You must be Curt." He spoke English with a slight Italian accent, glancing down at the guitar case by Curt's side. Thrusting his hand out and shaking with him, his warm smile matched his comfy-looking cardigan sweater. "I'm Joseph."

"Yes, sir. Uh, Maestro. Sir. And this is Roland." Curt gestured to him. "My, um, boyfriend."

Roland stepped up and shook his hand. "Nice to meet you, Maestro. Sir. I hope you don't mind if I sit in on the lesson?"

"Of course, Roland. I'm very pleased to meet both of you. Tania told me you want to learn to play bass, Curt. But we need to get something out of the way first."

Curt's face fell. Hadn't he told Roland not ten minutes earlier this was probably a mistake? He squared his shoulders, bracing for bad news.

"No calling me sir. Or Maestro. Or even Mr. Borelli. I'm Joseph to you boys, okay?" He chuckled when Curt and Roland breathed a visible sigh of relief. "I may have conducted Milan's symphony orchestra in my native country many moons ago, but playing bass in a group at small venues here in Bath makes me much happier. I'll be glad to teach you, Curt, but only if we dispense with all the formalities." Raising his eyebrows, Joseph peered at his new acquaintances. "Agreed?" 

Their faces broke into huge grins. "Agreed!" 

"All right, then. Let's sit down and relax." Joseph led them to the sofa in front of the fireplace. He grabbed his bass off its stand and settled into an adjacent chair while Curt opened his case and reached for his own bass. "Why don't you tell me a little bit about yourselves?"

Roland thought back. Way back. "Well, I've been playing guitar and writing songs since I was a wee lad. I met Curt last year and asked him to join my band as lead singer when I heard how great his voice was."

Curt smiled. "And our bass player recently moved to London, so the logical solution is for me to replace him."

"Smart move." Joseph liked the ambitious pair already. "The bass is a fun instrument. You'll love it once you really get into it. Let's start with the proper finger placement and get you playing some basic chords. Do you read music?" 

"I do. Roland taught me when I was learning my first song to sing with the band."

Roland nodded. "That's when I discovered he has perfect pitch. I'm envious."

"Me, too!" Joseph laughed. "So your bass is going to sound one octave lower than the written note . . ."

It was Curt's lesson, but Roland paid rapt attention as well, mentally mastering the chords, practice scales, and simple bass lines while Curt's fingers played them. He couldn't believe two entire hours had elapsed when the session was winding down. 

Seemingly on cue, the housekeeper reappeared, carrying a large tea tray. "Will your guests be joining you, Maestro Borelli?" she asked, setting it on a side table. 

Joseph shrugged at Curt and Roland, turning his palms outward. "Catherine is the one person I can't convince to drop the formalities! Yes, please stay for tea, boys." He walked over to his string instruments while Catherine poured three cups. "There's one more thing we need to take care of before you leave." 

Curt caught the twinkle in Joseph's eye. "So you noticed Ro salivating every time he dared to look in its direction, then?" he teased, tucking his bass back into its case.

"Hard to miss." Joseph leaned his bass on its stand, exchanging it for the violin. Then he brought the rare Amati over to Roland. "Nice to see someone else appreciating this work of art. Go ahead. Have a closer look."

Roland blinked hard. He'd been _that_ obvious? Slightly blushing, his dream becoming a reality helped erase his chagrin. He looked up at Joseph and carefully took the prized gem into his hands. "Gorgeous. Simply gorgeous," he uttered several times, examining its fine craftsmanship in detail. His voice trailed off as he reverently placed the violin under his chin and closed his eyes. 

Joseph was offering him a bow when he opened them. "I didn't know you played. Please."

"May I?" Roland was stunned. This was definitely not part of his dream! "I'm honored, Joseph. Thank you." Hesitating for a moment, he heard one of his new songs in his head, soon reproducing its haunting melody on the strings while Curt and Joseph sipped their tea. Afterward, he slowly lowered the instrument, climbing his way back down to earth.

"You're quite good, Roland." Joseph set his teacup on the tray. Knowing both of the violin instructors in Bath, he wondered which one had the pleasure of mentoring this talented young man. "Whom do you study with?" 

"I'm afraid I haven't had any formal training." Roland handed the violin back to Joseph and picked up his tea. "I had access to a student violin for a few days, and I tinkered around with it until I could play some things. Nothing very advanced."

"You taught yourself to play the violin in a few days?" Joseph's eyebrows zigzagged into his forehead as he put his treasured Amati back on its stand. "I've never heard of such a thing!" 

Roland grinned. "I just wanted to see if I could do it." 

Joseph was still shaking his head in disbelief when Catherine came back in and said there was a phone call waiting for him in the kitchen. Excusing himself, he left Curt and Roland to finish their tea.

Roland slid close to Curt on the sofa and nuzzled the side of his face. "Your bass lesson turned out great, didn't it? You were playing pretty easily."

Curt dipped his head onto Roland's shoulder. "Joseph's a good teacher. I'm going to practice every day and learn all of our songs."

"You're gonna be a better bass player than Rick ever was. I'm kinda glad he had to move away."

"Roland!" Curt popped up in mock horror and playfully socked his arm. "I can't believe you said that!"

Roland grabbed Curt's fist before it collided with his arm again, laughing as they jostled back and forth. "Why? It's true." Pulling him forward by the hand, he tasted his lips before the real kissing started. He wasn't sure how long he'd been lost in Curt's mouth by the time Joseph returned, but he separated from him faster than he ever had before and went back to his tea.

"Sorry, Joseph." Curt wasn't embarrassed. He just didn't want to seem disrespectful. "I guess that was a little inappropriate."

"Nonsense, Curt. There's nothing wrong in showing affection for one another. You were honest with me about being in a relationship with Roland when you introduced him as your boyfriend. I think you two are very brave."

Curt and Roland looked at each other. _Brave?_

Joseph sat back down in his chair, facing them. "It takes courage to live your truth and not hide it, as so many feel they need to do. I mean, it's 1975. It's time for society to be more accepting of diverse lifestyles. Maybe you boys will be able to open a few closed minds in this world with your honesty."

Curt smiled, reaching for Roland's hand. 

Roland studied his shoes as Joseph's words sank into his heart. Slowly lifting his head, he only wanted to know one thing. "Joseph?"

"What is it, Roland?"

"Can you adopt us?"

. . . . .

Curt and Roland left Joseph's home hand in hand, buoyed by the amazing Sunday afternoon they'd spent with him. Barely making it to the corner, Roland turned to Curt and pulled him in for a sloppy kiss. He grinned at him afterward.

"It's still early. Let's go to the movies, Curt!"

"The movies? What do you want to see?"

Roland shrugged. "It doesn't matter."

"You want to see a movie, but you don't care which one?" Curt snaked his arms around his boyfriend and whispered in his ear. "I think I know where you're going with this, Ro, and I like it!" 

"I'm sure you do." Roland laughed, batting his eyelashes at Curt. "I don't really want to see a movie. I just want to get you alone in the dark!"

Aggressive Roland in a dark theater. Curt could think of worse situations to be in. His face came alive as he took Roland's hand and started toward the cinema. 

"What are we waiting for?!"

. . . . .

Joseph listened while Tania's fingers flew over the piano, zipping through two-octave scales in each progressive key. Laying the evening newspaper aside, he rose from his chair in the library and walked across the hall to his study. "Lovely, my dear. Just lovely."

Tania looked up from the grand piano in the corner as her father approached. "You know I'm only warming up, Papa. I need to work on the Chopin tonight."

"An exquisite piece." Joseph slid down onto the bench beside her and smiled. "I've always loved that waltz."

She stopped mid D-flat Major scale and turned her head. "Okay, you haven't sat with me while I practiced since I was ten. What's up?"

"I met your friends today. Curt and Roland. I was quite impressed with both of them."

Tania laughed. "Yeah, they're pretty cool. How did Curt do on bass?"

"Very well. He's got a natural feel for it, so he picked up fast. He couldn't help vocalizing to a couple of the bass lines, and he has a beautiful voice, too. Tania, remember that night you went to the party? When you got home, you told me he and Roland had asked you to play keyboard in their band."

"Oh, I told them I couldn't, Papa." She shook her head back and forth. "It would take too much time away from my practicing, and I-"

"I think you should do it."

Tania stared at her father. What was he thinking? He'd always been the biggest supporter of her goal to become a concert pianist. Knowing how much of herself she'd already invested toward that end, he was encouraging her to practice less? 

Joseph adjusted his glasses and smiled at her again. "I'd never advise you to get involved with an amateur bunch of kids, but Curt and Roland are different. They're both extraordinarily gifted young men. I'm sure any band they front is top-notch. And it would be an opportunity for you to have some fun with your music."

"Really?"

Joseph nodded and stood up to leave her with their cherished Chopin. "You should tell them you'll do it."


	5. Chapter 5

CHAPTER FIVE - HE'S A GENIUS

Roland tucked his music theory textbook into his backpack as soon as the bell rang and looked over at Curt two seats away, both of them praying their teacher would grant the request Roland was about to make. Curt held his boyfriend's eyes with his own, transmitting a quick dose of moral support. Still, he inhaled an anxiety-ridden breath as Roland made his way up to Mr. Conner's desk. It was a long shot, and they knew it.

"Mr. Conner, can I talk to you for a second?" 

"Sure, Roland. What's on your mind?" Mr. Conner always had time for his star pupil. "Are the Duckz looking forward to their gig at the Spring Hop next month?"

"Well, that's what I wanted to talk to you about." Roland glanced around the music room and then eyed his teacher again. "I was wondering if we could use this space to rehearse after school more than once a week. We need to get a lot tighter before before the dance."

Mr. Conner frowned. "I'm afraid that's not possible. I have your band slotted in on Wednesdays, and the other four days are reserved for special interest clubs." He shuffled some papers around on his desk, trying to look busy. "Sorry about that. I'm sure you'll be fine, though. You and Curt always sound terrific when I overhear you before class."

"Yeah, but our drummer needs a ton of work. You know Danny from third period? I wish I could replace him, but no one else in this school even remotely knows his way around a drum kit." Roland wasn't above begging. He gave his teacher the puppy dog eyes as Curt left his desk and walked up to join them. 

"I'd like to help you guys out, but my hands are tied." Mr. Conner looked at Curt. "How are your bass lessons coming along?"

"Great. I go every Sunday, and I've got all our songs down pat. Not to seem arrogant, Mr. Conner, but Roland and I sound good because we practice together all the time. It's Danny we're worried about. The only kit he has to practice on is in here, and once a week just isn't enough."

Roland tried again. "We also added a keyboard player. She's an unbelievable pianist and complements Curt and me perfectly. But the four of us need time together. Can't you give us a few more days a week? Please?"

"Sorry, guys. I can't." Mr. Conner opened a book on his desk when his next students started to trickle in. "Oh, before I forget, Roland, I have to leave your class a few minutes early tomorrow. I need you to fill in for me, alright? You can just go over key signatures and sharps and flats. That should keep everyone busy until the bell rings, okay?"

"Sure, Mr. Conner. Sharps and flats." Roland turned to Curt, the very last bit of wind blown out of his sails. "We need a Plan B. And fast."

Was that a twinge of guilt tugging at Nigel Conner's conscience as he watched Curt and Roland hightail it out of his music room? He wanted to boot one of the clubs off the schedule and give the hour to the Duckz, but he showed far too much favoritism toward Roland as it was. And who could blame him? He'd never crossed paths with a more talented student in all the years he'd been teaching music theory. Shame he hadn't taught him a bloody thing all semester because the kid knew more about the subject than he did!

. . . . .

Curt practically sprinted through the corridor, trying to keep up with Roland. "Well, that went nowhere, didn't it?"

"He's such a dick! He won't even try to help us!" 

"If we can just find another drum kit somewhere and get Danny on it as much as poss-"

"And he wants me to take over his fucking class tomorrow?!" Roland picked up his already-frenetic pace, adrenaline coursing though his veins. "He wants a favor from me, but he won't do a favor for us? I only took that fucking class for the easy A! I should have taken something I could actually learn!"

"Well, I think he-" 

"How about if I don't show up tomorrow? What if I'm absent?! What's the motherfucker gonna do then?!"

Curt shrugged one shoulder. "I . . . I could go over key signatures and sharps and flats." He tried his killer smile on him, but Roland wasn't having it. "Come on, Ro. We'll figure it out. Don't we always figure stuff out?" 

Roland finally stopped racing through the hall. He turned to Curt and looked him in the eye. "How are we gonna figure this out, Curt? It's a fucking disaster! Don't you get it?! We're fucked!" 

Curt's jaw rested on the floor when Roland pivoted on his heels and stormed off to his next class. Stranded there in disbelief, he shook his head while his boyfriend evaporated into the crowd. It wasn't like he was expecting a blow job or anything. But 'I'll see you later' would have been nice.

. . . . .

Paying zero attention in his next two classes, Curt thought of nothing but their current crisis and how to resolve it. By lunchtime, he was convinced the Duckz were going to crash and burn at the Spring Hop unless the one scenario that kept popping into his head would work. Bypassing his own cafeteria, he headed for the upperclassmen's dining room, searching for Tania. 

He found her sitting with Carlos, sharing a sandwich. Surprised to see him where he didn't belong, they smiled at him and told him to pull up a chair. 

Tania looked around. "Where's Roland?" 

"I don't know."

She exchanged glances with Carlos, who was choking on his drink. 

"Okay, what's wrong?" he asked Curt.

Curt shook his head, unable to keep a long-winded sigh from escaping. "He's melting down 'cause we can't use the music room more than once a week to rehearse. It's the only place we can get Danny on drums, and everybody knows he needs some serious practice time."

Tania nodded. "That's for sure. I think all of us were banking on more time in the music room this last month. What are we gonna do?"

"I've been trying to figure something out all morning, and there's only one solution I keep hitting on. Do you think your dad would let us use his study every day after school? I know that's asking a lot, but I just can't come up with anything else."

"That's not a bad idea, Curt." Tania's face lit up. "Especially now that he's storing his trio's drum kit in there while they're on hiatus. He's going back to Milan for a few weeks to see my grandma, but he shouldn't have a problem with us using his study."

Curt smiled, thankful to have her on board. "When can you ask him?"

"How about right now?" Tania took some coins out of her purse. Then she headed over to use the pay phone in the dining room while Curt and Carlos held their breath. 

. . . . .

Roland felt awful. Why on earth had he unleashed his wrath at Mr. Conner on Curt? He knew it was uncalled for, but that's what happened and he couldn't undo it no matter how embarrassed and regretful he was. Not being able to find him at lunch was bad enough, but now Curt wasn't at his locker after school. Roland hung his head as he started to walk home. He had to make things right. If Curt was finished avoiding him.

Holding onto the tiniest shred of hope that he'd find his boyfriend in the park, Roland's emotions ran the gamut when he spotted him leaning up against the same tree they'd hidden behind the very first time they kissed. He dropped his backpack and ran into his open arms. "I'm so sorry, baby!" he repeated over and over, nearly crying while he squeezed him to death. "I don't know why I took everything out on you! God, I'm so sorry!"

"Shh. It's okay. It's okay." Curt hugged him harder than he ever had before. "I know you were pissed. I was, too. Just hold me." 

Roland wrapped himself around Curt. "Don't ever let me go. I'll never do that again. I promise."

"Shit's gonna happen, Ro. Who knows? Maybe I'll be the one who loses it next time. As long as we love each other, we'll be fine." Curt kissed the sensitive place on the side of Roland's neck. "You do love me, right?"

Roland shivered. "I've loved you since day one when I heard you singing Last Days of May in your bedroom."

"I knew it! You only love me 'cause I can sing."

"Hardly." Roland laughed. "But none of this music stuff matters now. It's not like the Duckz have any kind of a future. That's okay, though. Our relationship is way more important than some stupid band at school." 

Curt started to slide downward, pulling Roland with him until they were sitting at the base of the tree. "Our relationship will always be more important than any band we're in, Ro. But this one's not over yet. Guess where I was at lunch today."

"Avoiding me. You had every right."

"I wasn't avoiding you, baby. I went to talk to Tania. I think she and Carlos have a thing for each other. Anyway, I had this idea and she liked it. The Duckz now have a new rehearsal space every day after school in Joseph's study. He gave us permission to use it, and we can start tomorrow."

Curt wasn't surprised in the least by Roland's high pitched scream and full-on attack. Landing beneath him in the grass, he hung on for dear life while his boyfriend mauled him and kissed every inch of his face. He smiled up at him when Roland came up for air. "Where's the dark movie theater when we need it, huh?"

Roland laid his head on Curt's shoulder. "Kinda too late for me. Sorry."

Curt tightened his arms around Roland's body. "Why do you think I was waiting for you by our tree?"

"Um, because you knew I'd look for you here, and you knew this was gonna happen?"

"You could say that." Curt grinned as they climbed to their feet and hoisted their backpacks over their shoulders. "I just knew you'd wanna thank me properly, and you couldn't do it at school!"

. . . . .

Joseph stepped into his foyer late at night and set his suitcases down. Weary from traveling, he removed his hat and coat to the strains of a haunting melody pouring out of his study. It wasn't one of Tania's regular pieces, yet he was sure he'd heard it before. He just couldn't place where or when. He rubbed his temples and shuffled in to greet her.

"Papa! How was your trip?!"

"Just fine, my dear. Grandma sends her love." He bent forward to kiss her cheek. "Don't stop. Please. That's rather . . . lovely. What is it?"

"It's one of the numbers we're doing tomorrow at the Spring Hop." Tania continued to play her favorite song, smiling up at her father on the closing bar. "Isn't it gorgeous?"

"It is. Who's the composer?"

"Roland, Papa. He wrote it."

"Roland wrote this? Ah . . ." The light bulb clicked on in Joseph's brain. Picturing his Amati in Roland's hands, the same melancholy notes echoed in his ears. He looked down and read the title on Tania's sheet music. "The Hurting?" 

"Uh-huh. It's brilliant. Wait till you hear all of us together and Roland and Curt singing the lyrics. You won't believe it. You are coming to hear us, aren't you?"

"Of course, I'll be there. I wouldn't miss it." Joseph read similar titles as Tania rustled through her other pages of sheet music. Broken? Pale Shelter? Suffer the Children? Sensing a theme, he eyed his daughter with a furrowed brow. "Roland wrote these, too?"

"Yes, Papa. He's a genius."

. . . . .

Joseph didn't disagree. Standing at the back of the school's gymnasium with a handful of adults, he listened to the Duckz play numerous Top Forty covers for their peers at the Spring Hop. Awed by both Curt's and Roland's voices, and the unique blend they produced together, he wasn't sure which aspect of the band's performance impressed him most. 

Was it the excellent musicianship? He'd always been proud of Tania's gift, and he knew Roland and Curt rivaled her from the day he met them. Was it the polished delivery? For four teenagers, the group sounded more professional than some professional acts he'd had the misfortune of hearing. But then Roland announced they'd be doing a few of their own creations, and that's when Joseph became truly taken in. Transfixed, he absorbed every brooding lyric in the boy's masterpieces. 

_. . . is it an horrific dream . . . feel the pain . . . feel the sorrow . . . broken . . . we are broken . . . you don't give me love . . . you give me pale shelter . . . you give me cold hands . . . it's a sad affair . . . when there's no one there . . . he calls out in the night . . . _

Definitely a theme. And a tragic one. Stemming from personal trauma? 

Joseph had to find out.

. . . . .

Gary waited until his old lady and two of her brats had left for church services before he climbed the stairs that Sunday morning. Sneaking into the boys' room, he locked the door behind himself and took the last swig of whiskey while Curt slept. He peered down at his beautiful face, his own full of scorn. Then he hurled the empty bottle at the mirror. "Wake up, you faggot!" he screamed as it shattered to bits.

Curt bolted into a sitting position, his heart pounding in his chest. "Jesus! What the hell are you-"

"Shut up, Curt! I'm doing the talking!" Gary paced over to the window, scoping things out. He didn't need any witnesses. "I always thought there was something about you I didn't like, and now I know what it is. You're a goddamned faggot, aren't you?!"

Trembling, Curt pulled the blanket to his chin, his eyes wide with fear.

"I finally figured it out last night, watching your band. Yes, I was there. You're always following that little girly kid around. Roland this, and Roland that! You act all butch so no one's onto you, but he's as queer as they come. And that can only mean one thing. You must be a fucking queer, too." Gary leaned down, inches away from Curt, his foul breath hovering in the air. "And you know what, princess? I can't stand queers!"


	6. Chapter 6

CHAPTER SIX - WE'LL BE IN TOUCH

Margaret Orzabal glared around the backyard when she and Julian arrived home from church. She allowed her two eldest boys to miss services because they'd promised the night before to clean out the shed, but a quick check on their progress revealed only one of them making good on his word. "Where's your brother, Carlos? He's supposed to be helping you."

Carlos wiped the perspiration from his forehead with the back of his hand. "I know, Mum, but he's still sleeping. He's exhausted from playing his gig last night." Which you didn't even bother to attend, his mind kept going. You could have made an appearance in the name of parental support, but no -

"I don't care how tired he is," she cut off his mental berating of her. "He needs to do his share. I'll get him out here, and then Julian and I are going to the store."

Shaking his head, Carlos wondered how his mum could have grown so cold toward Roland after she found out he and Curt loved each other. It wasn't fair, but it was now his life. No wonder his brilliant songs reflected such feelings of hurt and rejection. Carlos looked up and shrugged at a bleary-eyed Roland as he made his way toward him. "Sorry, bro. I let you sleep as long as I could."

"Thanks, Carl." Roland peeked into the shed and saw that Carlos had already done most of the work. "I owe you."

"Just help me move this old table. Hey, you guys really killed last night. Everyone loved the Duckz."

Roland smirked, starting to wake up a little more. "Even fucking Danny got it together. We did sound pretty good, didn't we?" He lifted one side of the table opposite Carlos and walked backward. "Recruiting Tania to play with us was the smartest thing we ever did. She gives us class, you know?"

"Yeah, she's definitely classy." Carlos sat on the table after they'd scooted it flush against the corner of the shed and stared at his hands. "Too classy for me."

"Aha!" Roland grinned, plopping down next to him. "Curt was right! You do have a thing for each other!"

"I wouldn't call it a thing. Yet. You spend more time with her than I do, Ro. I should start showing up at your rehearsals." Carlos smiled, too, not entirely joking. "I was thinking about asking her out to see a movie tonight. How about you and Curt coming with us?"

Roland eyed his brother sideways. "So basically, you need us as buffers."

"Pretty much." Laughing out loud with Roland, Carlos jumped off the table and glanced at his watch. "I think we're done in here. Let's cover this junk with the tarp and go call them."

. . . . .

Carlos stood in the kitchen and dialed Tania's number, tapping his fingers on the counter until she answered. Taking a deep breath, he felt awkward at first but loosened up when she said she'd love to go out with him. He ended the call soon after and gave Roland a thumbs-up. "Your turn."

"That was fast. You're not nervous, are you?" Roland teased, ringing his boyfriend. Convincing him they were actually going to _watch_ a movie this time would be funny.

Carlos went into the living room and flipped on the TV. Roland would be talking to Curt for a half an hour at least. Anything less than that and he'd be feeling his forehead to see if he had a fever. He scowled with concern a moment later, though, hearing Roland's frantic questions become louder and louder.

"What are you saying, Brett?! What happened?!" Roland squinted out the kitchen window, trying to understand. "Where's Curt?!" he yelled into the phone. "Where is he?!" Getting nothing but sobs in return, his anxiety snowballed out of control. "Stay there! I'm coming over!"

"What's going on?" Carlos tailed Roland as he flew down the hall to their bedroom. "Is Curt okay?"

"I have no idea. His little brother's a crying mess." Roland tore off his sweats and shinnied into a pair of jeans. "I need to get over there right now!"

. . . . .

Roland's heart raced in his chest. Out of breath from the nonstop run to Curt's place, he leaned on the bell and pleaded with the gods to cut them a break. 'Just let him be alright' swirled round his head like a mantra. 'Please, just let him be safe.'

He knew his prayers were pointless as soon as Brett opened the door. One look at his ashen, tear-streaked face confirmed Roland's worst fears. "Are you here by yourself?" he asked him, going inside when Curt's brother nodded up and down. "Tell me everything."

Brett wiped his eyes with his hands. "It was so scary, Roland. I went upstairs when we got home from church and found Curt in his bed. There was blood everywhere, and . . . and he wasn't moving. I screamed for my mum, and then she called the ambulance when she saw him. They came to take him to the hospital, but he still wouldn't wake up."

"Oh, my God." Genuine panic flooded through Roland. Looking for the fastest way to his boyfriend, he remembered Curt's older brother getting his driver's license. "Where's Shaun?"

"I don't know. He went somewhere right from church. He didn't come home with us."

"Fuck! Sorry, Brett. I was just hoping he could take us to the hospital. I'm gonna catch the bus over there and find out how Curt is. I guess you better stay put."

"Yeah, there was only enough room in the ambulance for my mum." Brett sniffled and ran his hand over his eyes again. "She told me to stay here."

Roland reached out and gave him a reassuring hug. "That's what you should do, then."

. . . . .

There was no one to reassure Roland. An eerie sense of dread accompanied him while he gazed through the bus window, unable to shake his vision of a bloodied Curt lying unconscious in his bed. The very same bed Roland had left his sock in a few days before. The corners of his mouth curved upward as he pictured himself and his boyfriend startled and scrambling to get dressed when Curt's mum came home from work early. Lost somewhere between the sheets, his sock was the least of their worries.

Moisture coated Roland's eyelashes. Would he ever feel Curt's glorious naked body against his again? Dabbing his eyes with his sleeve, he stepped off the bus and walked into the hospital's lobby.

"Curt Smith? Let's see . . ." The receptionist scanned through an admittance record on her desk and made some calls, informing Roland that his friend was being treated in the emergency unit. "Down that hallway. You'll run right into the waiting room."

It was Curt's mother whom Roland ran into. She was standing in the waiting room, talking with two uniformed police officers. Quietly slipping into a nearby chair, he lowered his head and listened.

"We were contacted by hospital authorities, Mrs. Smith. It seems your son has several defensive wounds on his hands and arms in addition to his other injuries, indicating a physical assault. Do you know anything about that?"

"Physical assault?! Certainly not! Curt's always walking into doors and things. He hurts himself. Accidentally, of course."

The cops exchanged glances. "These wounds aren't self-inflicted. Your son has been severely beaten by someone. Did you find any signs of a break-in?"

Curt's mum stalled as long as she could, trying to appear thoughtful. "No. But we'd just arrived home from church when my younger son found his brother. I wasn't looking for anything amiss."

"How many people reside in your home? We need a list of names."

Jesus! She had to get her story straight. "Do we have to do this _now?_ My son is hurt. I want to see him."

"Your son is in critical condition, ma'am," Officer Charles shot back as his partner excused himself to take a radio call. "His doctors have ordered no visitors while they set his broken wrist and assess the extent of his internal damage. Unfortunately, that includes you. So who else lives in your house?"

Defeated, she reeled off her other sons' names. Roland wanted to leap out of his seat and tattle that she'd omitted her boyfriend, but apparently the Bath Police Department was pretty good at its job.

"And who is Gary Reese?" Officer Dillon inquired, rejoining the conversation. "Brett has reported that he resides there as well."

"Brett?! What does he have to do with this? He's just a young child!"

"He gave his age as twelve to the detectives investigating the crime scene. He was very cooperative."

"Crime scene?!" she shouted.

"The bedroom in your home where the assault occurred. It's being dusted for fingerprints as we speak. We'll be in touch."

Curt's mum cursed to herself. This was becoming a horrid mess. Finally getting the cops out of her face, she turned around and nearly bumped into Curt's attending physician. He was rushing toward her with a stack of papers in his hand.

"Mrs. Smith? We're prepping Curt for emergency surgery to stop the bleeding in his abdominal cavity. X-rays show a ruptured spleen, most likely the result of blunt force trauma. I need you to sign these consent forms."

"Ruptured spleen?" She took the pen Dr. Harris offered her and started to sign each one. "Is he going to be okay?"

"I can't answer that yet. Not until we stop the bleeding and look for damage to his other organs. I'll have someone let you know when he's out of surgery." He collected the forms from her and quickly disappeared.

Her mind was whirling. Curt was critical. And police detectives had undoubtedly discovered Gary's smashed whiskey bottle on the bedroom floor by now. How were they going to explain _that?_ She'd been so stupid not to clean it up before the ambulance arrived. Then she left Brett home alone. Another colossal mistake. The way she saw it, Shaun was their only hope. How hard could it be to pin the broken bottle of booze on him? Didn't most seventeen-year-olds experiment with alcohol, among other substances? Scheming away, she knew he needed to be in on it. But where the hell was he?

Curt's mum gathered her bag from the chair where she'd dropped it and turned to leave. Focused solely on finding her oldest son, she hurried past a silently weeping Roland without noticing him.

. . . . .

Roland felt numb. Scared and alone, he'd been sitting on that hard-backed chair for what seemed like an eternity, a new river of tears falling from his eyes every time he replayed Curt's doctor's words in his head. Longing to wake from his nightmare, he finally swallowed the lump in his throat and jumped up when a kindhearted young nurse came into the waiting room summoning Mrs. Smith.

She looked at the teenager who walked up to her instead.

His voice was shaky. "Um, Mrs. Smith left about three hours ago. Is Curt out of surgery yet?"

"Are you related to him?"

"No, but I'm the only one he has here with him. I'm his boyfri- uh, best friend. Can you tell me how he's doing?"

Hesitating, she weighed the pros and cons of going against hospital policy. Then she considered the lad's swollen, bloodshot eyes, seeing no harm in easing his pain. "I'm only supposed to give information to family members. But you're . . . Curt's boyfriend?"

Roland hesitated, too, one shoulder shyly raising with a mind of its own. "Uh-huh."

"Well, you're almost family, then, aren't you?" She smiled at him. "Curt's surgery went very well. His doctors had to remove his spleen to stop the bleeding, but they found no other internal damage. He's in post-op now, coming out of the anesthetic."

Roland's relief was visible. "Oh, my God! That's great news! Can I see him?"

"We do allow patients to have one visitor in the recovery area. If you wait until he's moved there, we can let you in to see him."

"Of course, I'll wait!" Roland beamed at the angel before him.

"Okay, I'm Ellen. I'll come out and get you when he's in recovery. What's your name? So I'm not paging Mrs. Smith!"

Laughing along with her, he almost hugged his personal savior. "Thank you so much, Ellen! I'm Roland."

"Roland?" She thought for a minute and then pronounced his name slowly. "RO-land . . . Ah, it makes sense now."

"What?"

"Curt's been saying something, but we don't know what it means. I guess he's calling for you. He keeps murmuring 'Ro' over and over again."


	7. Chapter 7

CHAPTER SEVEN - THE WONDERS OF MODERN OPIUM

It was faint. Barely audible, in fact, yet it rang in Roland's ears like thunder and filled his heart with love. The groggy voice uttering his shortened name when he entered the recovery room with Ellen was quite simply the most beautiful sound he'd ever heard. Curt was going to be okay! Overwhelmed with relief, he couldn't wait to be in his arms again and celebrate with endless noisy kisses. Roland's smile wouldn't quit as he followed Curt's nurse to his bedside, where he was promptly yanked out of Utopia.

Ellen examined the IV line in Curt's arm and traded the empty bag of antibiotics for a full one. "Intravenous medicine to stave off post-operative infections," she said. "I'll give you some time alone with him. He's in and out of consciousness, but he should be coming to pretty soon."

Roland managed a weak 'thank you' and stepped closer to his boyfriend. He wouldn't be in his arms again for God knew how long. Not with Curt's bandaged hands and fractured wrist, which was tied to a splint to ensure immobility. No kissing his lips either. Roland bent forward and counted eight stitches in his bottom one. His cheek was also marbled with fine sutures. Roland was wondering about permanent scarring when Curt's eyelids began to flutter.

"Ro . . ." he groaned, stirring fretfully. "Ro . . ."

"I'm here, baby." Roland reached for his hand on impulse, quickly realizing that option was out. "I'm right here, Curt."

Curt struggled to wake up, hovering somewhere in the twilight zone. Catching glimpses of his boyfriend, he wanted to smile, but his mouth wouldn't work. Fuck! What was that searing pain in his bottom lip?! Willing himself to communicate, he mumbled his one syllable again. "Ro?"

He was trying to remember more words when his world faded to black once more.

. . . . .

Shaun's mum pulled up in front of his friend's house and threw her car into PARK. Blood boiling as this was the third friend she'd tried, she knocked on the door harder than necessary and rubbed her temples. Why was this so damned difficult? She forced herself to smile at Trevor when he answered.

"Hey, Mrs. Smith. How's it going?"

"Have you seen Shaun?"

Shaun walked up behind Trevor and looked at his mum. "What are you doing here? We're watching the game on TV."

"That's fine. Just come outside with me for a few minutes so we can talk."

Talk? She hadn't paid any attention to him in years, and now she was tracking him down on a Sunday afternoon to talk? Shaking his head, he stepped out onto Trevor's porch. "What the hell, Mum?"

She reached behind him and closed the door. "I need you to do something for me. Gary's gonna be in a lot of trouble, and I want you to help him out. The cops are gonna start asking questions about a broken whiskey bottle in your room near Curt's bed. All you have to do is say you dropped it this morning and didn't have time to clean it up because we were leaving for church."

Shaun squinted at her sideways and folded his arms across his chest. "I don't even drink whiskey. Why would I drop a bottle of it in our room?"

"Look, Shaun. This is serious. I want you to say you got into a scuffle with Curt this morning and you accidentally hurt him. Gary and I will back you up. You won't be in any legal trouble because you're still underage until your birthday."

"So Gary broke his whiskey bottle in our room and hurt Curt, and you want to blame me?" This was insane. His mum must be tripping. "No way that's gonna happen."

"Not _blame_ you. Didn't you hear me? It was an _accident_."

Pacing in a circle, Shaun ran a hand through his shaggy hair. Then he faced his lunatic mother and let her have it. "Just because Gary has money and pays your bills, you told him he could move in with us. He's nothing but a drunk, and you know it. You're protecting him, and you want to throw me under the bus? I told you. That's not gonna happen." He knew she was fuming, but he didn't care. "What did he do to Curt?"

She huffed at her oldest son in disgust. They'd have another assault to deal with if he weren't a foot taller than she was. Cursing at him, she turned away and stormed out to her car.

"You're a rotten mother, you know that?!" he yelled at the back of her head. "I'm moving out as soon as I turn eighteen, and I'm taking Curt and Brett with me!"

Trevor looked up from the game when his friend went back inside to get his jacket. "What the fuck was that?"

"My mum's lost her mind. I gotta find my brother."

. . . . .

Curt took in his surroundings and realized he was in a hospital, figuring that could only be a good thing since he felt as if he'd been hit by a train. Seeing Roland at his side, he extended the arm that would move out toward him.

"Curt! You're awake!" Roland looked at his bandaged hand, hesitant to take it.

"It's okay. Please, Ro." Curt was proud of himself for speaking in complete sentences. It hurt when Roland cradled his hand between both of his, but he needed his boyfriend's touch. "My other hand is tied down."

"Your wrist is broken."

"Well, look who's talking!" Ellen smiled at Roland as she walked over and stood on the other side of Curt's gurney. She bent down and checked the stitches in his lip. "Hey, sleepyhead. How do you feel?"

"Like the losing half of a prizefight."

Humor. She was going to like this lad. "I'm Ellen. I've been taking care of you after your surgery."

"Surgery?" Curt blinked. He glanced at Roland, who nodded and kissed his gauze-wrapped fingers.

"I guess you have a lot of questions. Dr. Harris will be in to see you after I get your vitals." Ellen reached for the thermometer in the pocket of her scrubs. "On a scale of one to ten, how would you rate your pain?"

"Four thousand and nine."

She put the thermometer under his tongue. Then she grabbed a blood pressure cuff off the wall behind his head. "We'll put a pain reliever in your IV. You should start to feel better when it kicks in." Asking Roland if she could borrow Curt's arm, she slid the cuff over his wounds until it rested above his elbow. Pumping it up, she watched the dial in her hand.

Roland's gaze never left Curt's face. He saw that each torturous constriction was a new level of hell for him. "Can't you wait until his cuts have healed a little before you do that?" he asked Ellen.

"I know it hurts. I'll try to expedite the morphine drip." She removed the thermometer and carefully worked the blood pressure cuff back down Curt's arm. "I'll find the doctor and have him call it in to the pharmacy."

Moisture pooled in the corners of Curt's eyes, his throat tight with emotion.

"Thank you, Ellen." Roland gently took Curt's hand again. Leaning down, he kissed his forehead.

Curt's tears mingled with Roland's, their faces in no hurry to separate. "I love you, baby," he whispered. "Don't leave me in here alone."

"I won't." Roland's heart was breaking. He placed tender kisses on Curt's eyelids when they slowly closed.

"I was so scared, Ro. I thought he was gonna kill me."

. . . . .

Shaun's mum slammed her car door and screeched away. He was too smart to play her game, but this was all Brett's fault when she really thought about it. If the little chatterbox hadn't let the cops in and opened his trap about Gary living with them, she could have gone home from the hospital, cleaned up the shattered liquor bottle, and had some time to construct their story. Heading home to read him the riot act, she turned onto her street and entered a page straight out of a crime drama script.

It unfolded like clockwork while she watched from her car: The plainclothes detectives exiting their unmarked vehicle in front of her house as soon as Gary pulled his pickup into the driveway. The intoxicated performance he gave, stumbling out of it and landing smack in the middle of their ambush. And then, to her horror, the tinkling, shiny handcuffs materializing before her eyes and clamping around Gary's wrists after he'd been frisked. Inching closer to her driveway, she rolled down the window just in time for the best part.

"Gary Reese, you're under arrest for the assault of Curt Smith. Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law. If you can't afford an attorney, a public defender will be provided for you."

Gary spotted his girlfriend as Detective Abbott and his partner hauled him out to their vehicle. He looked her in the eye just before they stuffed him into the back of it. "Call my lawyer."

. . . . .

Dr. Harris stopped at the nurse's station in the recovery room, taking some time to review Curt's records. He looked up at Ellen after a few minutes. "He's really been through an ordeal, hasn't he? How's he doing on the morphine?"

"It's working. He's feeling no pain; trust me. He's even laughing." Ellen consulted her watch and sighed. "There's something I don't understand, though."

"What's that?"

"Where is this lad's mother? Or father? Or legal guardian? He seems to have no one but his devoted boyfriend, who's been here for hours. I just don't get it."

Dr. Harris frowned, recalling the police officers walking away from Curt's mum when he brought her the surgical consent forms. "I smell trouble with this one."

Roland recognized him as he started toward Curt's gurney. "Here comes your doctor. You better behave."

"My doctor?" Curt shifted his head on the pillow and checked him out. Then he grinned at Roland. "We're gonna be playing doctor again as soon as I get outta here. Give me a kiss."

"Oh, my God." Roland rolled his eyes. "Stop."

"How are you feeling, Curt?" His physician stood at the foot of the bed and opened his chart.

"Great!"

"Ah, the wonders of modern opium." Chuckling, he adjusted his glasses. "I'm Dr. Harris. Technically, you're a pediatric patient, but I see here you'll be fifteen in a few weeks. That means you're entitled to privacy while we discuss your case." He looked at Roland briefly and then back at Curt. 

"Roland and I don't keep anything from each other. He's my boyfriend. Isn't he cute?"

"Curt!" Roland stared at him. "SHUT! UP!"

"He is." Dr. Harris laughed outright. "I'm glad to see you're doing so well, Curt, because you gave us quite a scare this morning."

"I did? What happened?"

"Well, let me start at the beginning." Scanning his information from time to time, Dr. Harris didn't mince words. "You were brought in by ambulance at ten-fifteen, unconscious as a result of blunt force trauma to your internal organs. You were bleeding profusely from your face, due to severe lacerations on your right cheek and bottom lip. Your cheek required thirteen stitches, and we closed your lip with eight. It was apparent that you tried to shield your face with your hands, as they also presented with several cuts and bruises. Your right hand took the brunt of the damage, requiring stitches in three different places, and X-rays revealed a significant fracture in your lower ulna."

"Ulna?" Curt repeated the term he'd never heard before.

"It's one of the two bones in your forearm. Yours is cracked down near your hand, which means you have a broken wrist. We have it splinted right now, so that's why you can't move it. We'll get rid of the splint when the bone starts to knit back together. The cuts on your left hand and fingers required seven stitches. We have both hands and your right arm wrapped in gauze for protection. After a few days of cleaning the wounds and re-wrapping them, you won't need the gauze any longer."

"That's good."

"Now we get into the more serious issues," Dr. Harris continued. "Internal bleeding. Your spleen had been ruptured, and blood was filling your abdominal cavity. You were rushed into surgery in an emergent situation as that was life threatening."

"You mean I almost died?"

"That was a possibility. The surgeon removed your spleen because it was the only way to stop the bleeding. Fortunately, the spleen isn't vital to survival. But you'll be more susceptible to infections without it, so keep that in mind and try not to expose yourself to sick people if you can help it."

"Hear that, Ro? No catching a cold for the rest of your life."

Roland raised his hand and saluted. "Got it."

Dr. Harris smiled. He was beginning to like these lads. "Do you have any questions before I look at your incision, Curt?"

"Can you save my life every time Gary tries to kill me?"

Roland's eyes widened. "But we're not supposed to say anythi-"

"We've been hiding it long enough, Roland." Curt looked back at his doctor. "My mum's boyfriend. He beats me up whenever he feels like it. He came into my room while I was sleeping this morning, and . . . well, you said it yourself. He almost murdered me. I would have been at church with my mum and brothers, but I was too tired from our band's gig last night."

"I was wondering if you knew your assailant. It sounds like you're unsafe in your home environment."

"My home environment is the most dangerous place I've ever been in. I just know he's gonna kill me one of these days. Especially now that he knows about Roland and me."

"What?!" Roland jolted to attention.

"He was there, watching us play the gig together. How did he put it?" Curt contemplated the ceiling for effect. "Oh, yeah. That I'm always following you around and must be a fucking queer, too."

"Jesus." Roland shook his head, pinching the bridge of his nose.

Dr. Harris reached for the box of sterile gloves and slid a pair onto his hands. "We can help you, Curt. We have social workers who can intervene on your behalf and ensure your safety. And I won't release you from the hospital into a harmful situation. Just focus on getting better, okay? You're looking at a pretty lengthy stay while you heal."

Curt nodded. He felt the albatross around his neck loosening its grip as the doctor neared his side.

"I need to roll the sheet back and lift your hospital gown up. Are you sure you don't want some privacy?"

"From Ro?" Curt sank backward into his pillow and relaxed. "He's seen it."

. . . . .

Ellen checked Curt's IV after Dr. Harris had examined him and moved on to his next patient. "Your mum's here," she said, not realizing she'd followed her and was standing just beyond the curtain surrounding Curt's gurney. "But you can only have one visitor at a time, so Roland should go back to the waiting room for awhile." She wasn't the only one who witnessed the teens mock pout at each other before Roland leaned down and pecked Curt's forehead. 

"I'll be back later." Remembering the vending machines he'd stared at all morning, Roland suddenly craved a candy bar or ten.

"Roland?" Curt's mum gaped at him when he stepped out of the cubicle. "Did you just . . . kiss Curt?!"

Shit! "Um . . ." Speechless, he avoided her face at all costs.

"I saw you kiss his forehead. Why did you do that?"

"Well, I . . ."

"He kisses me all the time, Mum." Curt couldn't see her on the other side of the drape, but he spoke loud enough to be heard. "And I kiss him, too. We love each other," he announced to everyone within earshot.

Roland couldn't mask the smirk on his face. His boyfriend on drugs was unbelievable.

Curt's mum marched past Roland and parked herself at her son's bedside, where she glared at Ellen. "I want to talk to Curt alone. First of all," she started when Ellen and Roland made themselves scarce, "loving another boy is absurd. You do not love Roland. But I came here to tell you you're going to say someone broke into the house this morning and hurt you." She slapped her hands on her hips, determined to be obeyed. "Do you understand me?"

"Why would I say that? It was Gary. He almost killed me because I do love Roland."

She groaned under her breath. "I don't want to hear that ever again. And you _are_ going to tell the authorities it was a stranger. Don't argue with me, Curt."

"I'm not gonna do it. I'm not gonna lie for that scumbag."

"Curt!" she shouted at him. "He's already been arrested! Do you want him to go to jail?!"

"Yes!" he shouted back. "I could have died! Not that you care!"

Dr. Harris bolted out of the adjacent cubicle and appeared in front of Curt's mum. "Okay, Mrs. Smith. Curt just had major surgery. He's got to rest. I think you should leave now." Cupping her elbow, he escorted the combative woman away from her son and out of the recovery room. "Contact admissions and tell them I want Curt in a room upstairs ASAP," he told Ellen at the nurse's station. "He's stabilized, and I want him away from this chaos down here."

"Yes, doctor." She picked up the phone. They were trained to avoid getting personally involved with their patients, but she sensed it was too late for Dr. Harris to untangle himself from this mess.

"And get Social Services in on his case. This boy needs someone to advocate for him."

"Yes, doctor."

"And Ellen? Go find Roland and tell him to come back in now. Curt needs him, too."


	8. Chapter 8

CHAPTER EIGHT - IT'S PAINFUL

Victor Hanson smacked his client's arrest record down in front of him and narrowed his eyes. "They've got an airtight case here," he informed the smug bastard. "Your fingerprints are all over that room. They even extracted bits of the kid's flesh from your ring. You know . . . the one that lacerated the hell out of his face. Evidence doesn't get any harder than that."

"Look, Vic." Gary glanced around his cell in the county lockup and snickered. "Just name your price. How much will it take to make this go away?"

. . . . .

Joseph inhaled the heavenly aroma of freshly baked chocolate chip cupcakes wafting through his house and smiled. Judging from the playful antics and giggling down in the kitchen, it sounded like his daughter, her boyfriend, Carlos, and Roland were having lots of fun preparing them. Checking the time, he joined the teens just as Tania slathered icing onto the last one. "Didn't you say we had to leave at two o'clock, Roland?"

"Yup. We're almost finished." 

Tania wiped a smudge of chocolate off of her fingernail. "You can help Ro with the candles, Papa. Carlos and I are gonna put the balloons in the car."

"I can do that." Joseph was happy to lend a hand. Agreeing to drive them to the hospital when they'd asked the previous night, he was looking forward to seeing Curt again and celebrating his birthday with everyone. He counted the cupcakes and looked over at Roland. "Fifteen?"

"Uh-huh. One candle in each of them." He stuck the first one in. "Think Curt can blow all of them out at once?"

Joseph gathered a few candles in his hand and got to work. "That'll be funny. Pretty clever, Roland."

Roland laughed, shrugging his shoulders. "I try." 

. . . . .

Curt dropped the book he was reading on his hospital bed when his little brother walked in with Shaun. "Brett! I've missed you!" Standing up, he looked him over from head to toe. "You've grown since I've been in here!"

"Happy Birthday, Curt!" Brett reached out and hugged him, remembering that fateful morning he'd found him so badly injured. "You're all better now! You're not bloody anymore!"

"Nope. They cleaned me up and I'm good as new." 

"So you can come home now?"

Curt caught Shaun's eye. Then he motioned to the small table and chairs by the window and sat down with his brothers. "I told Shaun you guys should get here for the party before everyone else so we can talk to you, Brett. It's kind of complicated, but we think you're old enough to understand." 

"Understand what?"

Curt eyed Shaun again, grateful that he said they'd break it to him together. "You know Roland and I have a special relationship, right?" he started. "That we're more than best friends?"

Brett nodded, unfazed. "Yeah."

"Well, Mum and Gary don't like that," Shaun told him. "Curt's going to live in a foster home so Gary can't hurt him ever again. He's been the victim of physical abuse for a long time, and the courts have ruled that Mum's lost custody of him."

"Oh, like my friend David. He lives in a foster home." Brett took the three magic markers he brought with him out of his pocket. "Can I draw on your cast, Curt?"

Curt laughed out loud along with Shaun. So much for complicated explanations! "Go ahead. I saved this side just for you." He propped his wrist on the table in front of his little brother. "So what happened at the arraignment?" he asked Shaun.

"It was a joke. Gary paid his lawyer a shitload of cash and he got him off with no jail time. The judge did order him to pay all your medical and physical therapy bills, though." Shaun scoffed, shaking his head. "It just pisses me off that Mum won't kick his ass out. I told you she tried to pin the whole thing on me. She wanted me to say it was my whiskey bottle and I was the one who beat you up."

"Yeah, you told me. I'm gonna be so much better off not living with them."

Brett looked up from his artwork, suddenly concerned. "Are we still gonna be able to see you if you don't live with us?"

"Uh-huh." Curt smiled at him. "My social worker found me a really nice family. They said you and Shaun are welcome to come visit me anytime you want to. And guess what my doctor just told me this morning?" 

"What?" 

"He said his present to me is that he's releasing me into their care tomorrow! I'm finally getting out of here!" 

. . . . .

Carlos wrestled a handful of metallic helium balloons into the lift and helped Tania with hers, pressing the button marked FIVE after Roland and Joseph squeezed in with pink pastry boxes full of cupcakes balanced in their arms. "Think Curt will be surprised?" he asked his brother.

"Not at all." Roland shook his head. "He practically ordered me to throw him a party when we were talking about his birthday last week. I told him I'd think about it, but he just said to plan it for two-thirty because he'd be finished with physical therapy on his wrist by then."

"Following orders . . . You're a good boyfriend, Roland!" Tania laughed as the doors separated on Curt's hospital wing. "Perfect timing!" she said when they ran into Danny stepping out of another elevator. 

Roland saw the fifth floor nurse he and Curt liked best in the hallway and waved to her. "Hey, Rebecca." Leading the way to Curt's room, he walked over to him while the rest of the entourage piled in one by one.

Curt's eyebrows raised halfway up into his forehead when he saw the balloons. "A party? For me?!" Feigning ignorance, he beamed at his friends. "Roland, you shouldn't have." 

"Oh, my God." Roland set his pastry box down on the table in front of Curt. "Don't even," he deadpanned, reaching for the one in Joseph's arms and opening it for Curt to see. "Fifteen cupcakes. Tania did all the baking, but Carl and I made her laugh so she had a good time doing it."

"Thank you, Tania." Curt stood up and kissed her cheek.

"You're welcome." She tied the bunch of balloons in her hand to one side of his bed while Carlos tied his to the other side. "Ro said chocolate's your favorite, so . . ."

"It is! Seriously, you guys. Thanks for coming." He introduced his brothers to Joseph, Tania, and Danny before he hugged his mentor. "It's so great to see you, Joseph." Then he turned to Danny. "You, too. I can't wait to start rehearsing again." 

"How's your wrist doing?" his bandmate asked. "Roland said it was broken."

"It's a lot better now." Curt held his arm up and twisted his hand back and forth. "I won't be able to play bass until I get the cast off in four more weeks, but I can still sing. We can start practicing as soon as I get out of here. Which will be . . ." He looked at his little brother. "Tell 'em, Brett!"

"Tomorrow!"

Cries of "Yay!" and "I'm so happy for you!" punctuated the cheers and applause erupting throughout the room. Curt grinned from ear to ear as they broke into a spontaneous round of Happy Birthday To You, Roland's voice naturally standing out above the others'. Loving his celebration, he watched Tania arrange all the cupcakes together on the table before Carlos took the lighter from his pocket and lit each candle. Curt blew them out one at a time, prompting more applause and laughter, and then personally handed a chocolaty sweet to everybody. 

He was talking to Joseph about the rigorous physical therapy he'd started on his wrist and would need to continue as an outpatient when Roland went to find Rebecca. Ellen from Recovery and Dr. Harris came back in with them. 

"I heard there's a party in here?" Dr. Harris joked, hugging Curt before the nurses got to him and administered their own special brand of TLC. 

Roland gave them each a cupcake and then slipped out again to retrieve Curt's gift from the nurse's station, where he'd stored it the night before. The room fell silent when he walked back in with a brand new bass guitar, not wrapped but sporting a huge red bow tied around it. "Happy birthday, Curt. This is from all of us. Hope you don't mind we all went in together on it." 

"Mind?! This is the one I've been wanting!" Curt held it in his hands, genuinely surprised. "Thank you, everybody!" Leaning close to Roland, he pecked his lips. "I know this was your idea. Thank you, baby."

"You deserve it."

Curt removed the bow and then held the instrument out toward Joseph. "No one better to break her in than my beloved bass teacher! Can you do the honors, Joseph?"

Joseph laughed and took it from him. "Let's see . . ." Twisting the pegs until he was happy with the tone each string produced, he fiddled with a couple of bass lines. "We've already sung to you, but how about . . ." He'd just finished plucking the birthday song to everyone's delight when Curt's social worker inched her way through the door.

"Jenny!" Curt waved her in. "You made it! Looking for Dr. Harris to sign my release forms?" Pointing at his doctor, he was more than ready to commit his long hospital stay to a distant memory. "He's right here!"

Jenny's forehead wrinkled up. How she hated her job some days. "Actually, I need to talk to you, Curt. But it can wait." Trying to exit gracefully, she kept the fact that she'd forgotten Roland told her the party was planned for two-thirty to herself. "I'll come back later."

"We can talk now." Curt glanced around at his family and friends. "It's fine."

Hesitating, Jenny took a deep breath. "Okay, well . . . let's just go out in the corridor for a minute." Leaving Curt no choice, she made eye contact with Dr. Harris and stepped out, waiting for both of them to follow her.

"Come on, Ro." Curt had a feeling it wasn't going to be pretty. He held his boyfriend's hand and his breath as he left the room. "They don't want me, right?" he blurted out, looking Jenny in the eye.

She stopped herself from embracing him; he had Roland for that. "I'm sorry, Curt," she started, her face full of regret. "It's not so much they don't want you. It's just that they've been waiting to foster a baby for months now, and a six-month-old infant entered the system last night. We were obligated by law to give them the choice, and-" 

"Of course they'd prefer a baby over me." Curt squeezed back when he felt Roland's hand tightening around his. "I get it."

Dr. Harris huffed in disappointment. "Well, this is an unfortunate turn of events." He laid his hand on Curt's shoulder. "Don't worry, though. Social Services will keep you at the top of their list. You're not going anywhere until they find another home with responsible adults to care for you." 

"Great. I'll just keep living here at the hospital." Curt made an effort to smile. "Thanks, Dr. Harris. I know you're trying to help me. Jenny, too. We saved you a cupcake," he told her, dragging Roland back into his party. "Come and have it before you start searching for another foster family!"

. . . . .

Joseph tossed and turned all night long, the image of Curt's crestfallen face etched into his mind and wreaking havoc with his neatly ordered world. Innocently overhearing the conversation he'd had with his social worker through the open door, Joseph's heartstrings were tugged to the breaking point when he connected the dots and realized what it meant. He closed his eyes again and dove further under his quilt, but the brave front Curt kept up for the remainder of the party still haunted his dreams. He just wanted to give the lad a fatherly hug and assure him everything would be okay. 

Would it, though? Would everything miraculously work out for the young man he'd grown so fond of? Barely sleeping, Joseph hopped out of bed at sunrise, his newly hatched idea sounding even more logical to him in the light of day. Sometimes, he figured, you just have to manipulate a situation into the outcome you want it to have!

Joseph found Roland and Curt sitting side by side on Curt's bed when he arrived at the hospital that morning, Roland idly plucking his boyfriend's new bass while Curt leaned on his shoulder and watched. These boys really were joined at the hip. He waved as Curt stood up to greet him and Roland laid the instrument aside.

"Joseph! You're back!" Curt eyed the spent traces of his party heaped in the corner waste basket and laughed. "Ro and I just ate the last two cupcakes, though. Hope you're not here for the leftovers!" 

Joseph held his palms up in front of his chest. "Already had breakfast. But day-old chocolate cupcakes? Sounds scrumptious!"

"They were!" Roland gestured to the large easy chair near Curt's bed. The one Rebecca had arranged to be moved in for him when it became clear that he was going to spend every waking hour in his boyfriend's hospital room. "You can sit here, Joseph. Curt and I were just talking about you." 

"Thanks." Joseph sank into the comfortable seat, watching Curt take up residence beside Roland on his bed again. "You were talking about me?" 

"We're thinking Curt needs to learn how to play slap bass when his cast comes off. Can we come back for some more lessons?" 

Curt looked at Joseph. "We can just hear a slap bass solo in the middle of Pale Shelter. What do you think?"

"Sure. I can teach you when your wrist is all healed. Pale Shelter?" Joseph tried to recall the tunes he'd heard the Duckz play at their school the night before Curt was injured. "Is that the one with the disturbing lyrics in the chorus? Um . . . cold hands? No love?"

"Uh-huh," Curt and Roland uttered at the same time, full of mad respect for the musician who took their work seriously.

"That's a beautiful song, Roland. Tania told me you wrote all the songs for your band. It's a beautiful work enhanced a hundredfold by your lead vocals, Curt." Joseph hesitated for a moment. But he needed to know. "I find myself mulling over those lyrics quite often. I think I'm close enough to you boys to ask. Are they personal?"

Roland's lips pressed together as he nodded his head. Curt gazed out the window, blinking several times.

"It's painful," Joseph added.

Roland continued to nod. Curt groped for Roland's hand. They'd never discussed the private nature of their songs with anyone else. But, then again, no one ever confronted them about it before. Focusing back on Joseph, he nodded also. 

"The Hurting. And Suffer the Children. They tell a story, too. I just have to ask if you're safe at home, Roland. We found out the hard way that Curt wasn't." 

"Well, I . . ." No need for measured words. Joseph was an ally. "I don't feel physically threatened like Curt did. But I'm definitely not wanted. It's a different kind of hurt knowing my mum rejects me 'cause I love Curt." Exhaling, he draped his arm around his boyfriend's shoulders. "She's ice cold to me." 

Curt turned his face toward Roland and kissed his cheek. Then he opened up to Joseph, too. "That's why I can't go home. My mum won't protect me from Gary because she basically agrees with him. They hate queers, and Roland and I . . . well, you get it." 

"Disgraceful." Joseph shook his head. "You boys shouldn't have to live like this. All the trauma and angst in your songs certainly make sense now, Roland. And Curt, you should be enjoying a carefree summer vacation from school, not waiting to be placed with a foster family before you can leave the hospital. I wasn't eavesdropping yesterday, but I was standing near the door and I couldn't help hearing your social worker talk to you."

Curt shrugged. "I kind of expected it. Jenny's great, though. She'll find me a place to live. Eventually."

"A place where being gay isn't a sin." Roland pecked Curt's smirking lips.

"Like my house," Joseph said. "It's not a sin there."

Curt laughed out loud. "Exactly! Like your house! She's gonna find me a family that doesn't care if I love Ro." 

"Like my family." Joseph smiled at Curt.

"Like your fam-" Curt stared at Joseph, his eyes narrowing in thought. "Like your family. You and Tania. And Catherine, too. You guys don't care."

"We don't." Joseph was still smiling. "Okay, I guess it's my turn for True Confessions. I'm afraid I came to see you with a bit of an agenda in mind, Curt. I came to ask you a very important question. Something I've been thinking about since I left your party." 

Curt and Roland sat at attention. Was that the sound of a pin dropping?

"I've given it a lot of careful consideration, and I think I'd make a pretty good foster father. How would you like to come and live with us?"

"He'd love to!" Roland cried, filling the silence when his boyfriend was caught off guard. "Oh, my God! He'd love to!" Playfully shaking Curt back and forth, Roland laughed with Joseph. "Give him a minute. He's in shock."

"I _am_ in shock." Curt wondered if he'd heard correctly "I, um . . . I don't know what to say." 

"He says yes!" Roland took Curt's face in his hands and tilted it up and down. "He says yes, don't you, baby?"

Curt broke into a wide grin. "Yes! I'd be so honored to live in your home, Joseph! I can't believe you want to do this for me." Stretching to reach his bedside table, he opened the drawer and pulled Jenny's business card out of it. "My social worker's name is Jennifer Thompson. If you call her and say you want to be a foster parent, she'll give you a ton of paperwork to fill out and interview you a few times and inspect your house and . . ." Curt laughed, handing the card to Joseph. "It sounds difficult, but she likes me. She'll fast-track the whole process when I tell her about you."

"Wow. You're very informed." Joseph had to laugh, too. It was either that or cry. No teenager should be so intimately acquainted with the foster care system. He took a quick look at the card and tucked it into his shirt pocket.

"Yeah, Jenny explained how it all works to me. I think they just want to make sure they don't give kids to crazy people."

Roland stood up, pulling Curt with him. "You're hardly a kid. And Joseph's not a crazy person. You got lucky, Curt." Beckoning for Joseph's hand, he waited for him to join them. 

"I know I'm lucky. Thank you, Joseph." Still glued to Roland's side, Curt extended his arm out toward the kindest man he'd ever known. 

Rebecca walked over to Curt's room at ten a.m., stopping herself before she entered. Lingering in the doorway, she sensed that taking his routine vitals couldn't be nearly as beneficial to his well being as the group hug he was sharing with his boyfriend and early morning visitor.


	9. Chapter 9

CHAPTER NINE - SCHEMING BASTARD

"Hello?"

"Hi, baby."

"Hi! How is it?" Roland plopped down onto a kitchen chair, anxious to talk to his boyfriend even though he'd just kissed him good-bye an hour earlier. Holding his hand as he walked out of the hospital under Joseph's care, he smiled and climbed into the car with them when Joseph said he didn't mind driving him home. Then he waved from his doorstep while Curt rode off toward his new life. "Is it just like we thought it'd be?!"

"It's so much better, Ro." Curt glanced around the spacious guest suite again. Or, as his foster father explained when they'd arrived, _his_ suite now. Toeing off his shoes, he sat on the bed.__

_ __ _

_ __ _

"It's better?! Details. I need details."

Curt threw his head back and laughed. "Well, you already know how beautiful the house is. And they're so nice to me. Joseph and Tania. And even Catherine. They want me to feel comfortable here. Like it's my house, too." 

"That's so great, Curt. Good thing it's not weird."

"The only weird thing is that my mum lost custody of me and I'm a ward of the state. That's kind of insane, don't you think?"

"Yeah, but you don't have to deal with fucking Gary anymore. That monster should be behind bars for what he did to you. And now you get to live in a mansion with a really nice family. Everything finally worked out."

"Thanks to Joseph. I can barely comprehend what he did for me. I've already pinched myself about a dozen times since I've been here. I never woke up, so it must be real." 

"Oh, It's real. It's all real. The way Joseph decided to step in when things were looking pretty bad for you. . . I'm convinced it was written in the stars from the beginning."

"Been reading your astrology books again, haven't you? But I don't have any other explanation for it, so you may not be wrong."

"Of course, I'm not wrong." Roland grinned at the phone. "So what are you going to miss most about your all-expenses-paid hospital vacation? The lovely view of the garbage dumpsters from your picture window? Being poked and prodded by needles and thermometers all hours of the day and night? I know . . . it's the staph infection you contracted after your surgery, isn't it? You're gonna miss burning up with that raging fever, aren't you?"

"You know me so well." Curt grinned, too. "But I am going to miss Rebecca. She was so sweet. And she liked us. Why can't we have mums like her?" 

"Right? Remember that time she walked in on us making out? That was kind of funny."

"The day she brought me the ointment for my scars." 

"That's something I'm gonna miss. Rubbing it on your cheek for you every night before I leave."

"Me, too. Guess I'll have to start doing it myself. I don't think it's even working, though."

"It is! Especially under your eye. Make sure you get it far enough up on your cheekbone. That part's fading away now. It's almost gone."

"If you say so." Curt nodded, loving how Roland always helped him keep a positive mind-set throughout this entire ordeal. "One thing I won't miss is the hospital food. Catherine had Beef Stroganoff waiting for us when we got here. Dinner was so good. She's a fantastic cook."

Roland licked his lips. The sandwich he'd thrown together after they dropped him off hardly qualified as dinner. "Okay, now you're making me hungry." 

"Yeah, well . . ." Curt stretched his legs out. Leaning backward against the headboard, he closed his eyes.

"What?"

"I'm still hungry. For you, Ro."

"Jesus, Curt! Don't say that where they can hear you!"

Curt laughed again. "They can't hear me. Joseph's reading the newspaper downstairs in his library, and Tania's at the piano with Beethoven."

"You're upstairs?! You better get out of Joseph's bedroom."

"I'm not in Joseph's room. I'm in my room." 

"Oh, my God! You've got a phone in your room?!" 

"My own line, too. Can you believe it? Joseph said he had it put in because he wants me to have a private space that's all mine. He wants me to have a part of the house that belongs to only me." 

"Hell, I don't know what I'd do with a room all to myself." Roland twisted around and glanced down the hallway into the dorm-like setting he shared with his brothers. "Well, yes, I do. I'd lock you in it and never let you go. Do you realize how long it's been, Curt?" Lowering his voice, he checked to make sure Julian was still watching TV. "How long it's been since we've . . . done anything?" 

"Feels like a fucking eternity." 

"Six weeks and two days. It's been six weeks and two days since we went back to Danny's house after the Spring Hop gig and ended up alone in his basement rec room." 

"Ended up?! Hey, I think you're forgetting I planned that whole thing!"

"I know. You're a scheming bastard. That's why I love you."

"I wish you were in my arms right now, Ro."

"I'd kill to be in your arms right now." 

Curt let out a sigh. A forlorn sort of sigh that happens when a teenager aches for his boyfriend. "I need you so much, baby. Just wait till after rehearsal tomorrow."

"Promise?"

"Promise."

. . . . .

Carlos pulled up in front of his girlfriend's house and parked the used car he'd recently bought with his hard-earned paychecks at the end of the driveway. He looked over at his brother in the passenger seat and cut the engine. "Ready for this?" 

"Hell, yes!" Roland jumped out and grabbed his guitar case off the backseat, following Carlos up to the door. "The Duckz haven't made one note of music together since Curt got hurt. This is gonna feel so good," he said, ringing the bell. 

"Tania's happy. She tells me all the time she can't wait to start playing with you guys again." Carlos stood a little straighter and ran a hand through his hair when the door opened from the inside. "Hi, Joseph."

"The Orzabal brothers." Joseph clapped both of them on the back in turn when they stepped into the foyer. "What a surprise. I haven't seen you boys in quite awhile!"

"I know!" Carlos thrust his arm out and shook hands with him. "I haven't been here almost every night after work, courting your daughter."

"And you haven't seen me every day at the hospital these last few weeks while you settled everything with Jenny and the foster care program." Roland broke into a wide grin, the sound of Curt vocalizing to Tania's C Major piano scales wafting out of the study and filling his ears. "Oh, and you didn't take me home last night, either."

Joseph laughed, gesturing across the hall. "Three Duckz are in there warming up, waiting for their leader. Don't work too hard."

Tania nodded at Carlos, her fingers still dancing over the keys as he slid onto the bench and side-hugged her. 

Roland walked up to the piano, too, setting his guitar on the floor near Curt's feet. He pecked his lips when his voice trailed off. "Beautiful. I haven't heard you singing full-out in forever."

"I'm rusty." Curt pulled him in for a longer kiss.

"Okay, what's wrong with this picture?" Danny's drumsticks crashed down onto his snare for effect. "Why am I the only one not paired off?" Laughing with everyone else, he looked at Tania. "Don't you have some pretty friends you can introduce me to?"

"Sure, Danny." Roland opened his guitar case and reached for the sheet music to his latest composition. "She's gonna get right on that. This is a crazy upbeat thing. I thought we could toy around with it today since we don't have Curt on bass until his cast comes off next week. He's straight vocals on this one." 

"Mad World." Tania read the title aloud when Roland handed her the page. "It's all staccato?" she asked him, glancing closer. 

"Yeah." Hoisting his guitar strap over his head, Roland tuned a couple of strings. "It's kind of unusual."

"Play it, though," Curt told Tania. "It's really fun." Taking an instant liking to his boyfriend's new song when Roland had given him the lyrics and music a few days earlier, he hadn't been able to get the quirky tune out of his head. Breath control was going to be a problem. That much was clear when they'd stood together near his hospital bed and attempted to softly warble their way through it in one go. Curt was still experimenting with different approaches, singing along each time Tania brought the underlying melody to life.

Roland had gravitated toward the drum kit. Describing to Danny what he had in mind for percussion, he strummed the dominant riffs while his drummer tried various fills. Finally agreeing on the best beats, they were ready to combine their efforts with Curt's and Tania's. Rough at first, to say the least, Roland's Mad World began to take shape after a couple of hours, sounding just as he'd intended. 

Until Tania hit a glaringly wrong note. And another. And another. Curt and Roland glimpsed in her direction. She simply didn't play bum notes. What the hell? 

Roland scowled when he figured it out. His guitar fell silent, and Curt and Danny stopped, too. "Carlos, go sit on the couch."

Jolting upright, Carlos conjured an air of innocence on the spot. "Why?"

"You don't see Curt and me screwing around while we're working, do you? You're distracting Tania." Roland's index finger shot outward, pointing to the sofa. "Go."

Tania smiled at her wounded puppy dog as he stood up. Peering through the rain-drizzled windows, she rubbed her arms. "Why don't you start a fire, Carl? It's getting chilly in here."

"Then you can help Catherine," Roland told him. "It's almost time for tea." 

Curt and Tania looked at Roland. "Friday's her day off," they chimed in unison.

Obediently, Carlos fussed with the kindling and lit a small fire, tending it until he added a larger log. No one seemed to notice him slip out of the room as his brother had refocused everyone's attention and was busy tweaking his song nearer to perfection. Carlos wandered into the kitchen, where Joseph was loading the tea tray. "Roland kicked me out," he said when Joseph looked up.

"Why do you think I haven't shown my face in there? He's a maniac when it comes to rehearsing his band." 

Carlos laughed. "Music's been his whole world ever since he was a little kid. Now he's got Curt hooked, too. They used to practice for hours every day after school in our bedroom."

"They're passionate about it." Joseph found the sugar bowl and put it on the tray. "And talented. Do you hear Curt's voice? No fifteen-year-old sings like that. And this song your brother composed? And arranged? I have professional colleagues in this business who can't hold a candle to him." Checking the time, Joseph grinned at Carlos. "But he does start to look for Catherine and the tea about four o'clock. Another ten minutes or so and he'll knock off. Watch." He turned to the suddenly-whistling kettle on the stove. "Can you get that for me?"

Seven and a half minutes later, the music gradually petered out and didn't start back up again. Joseph read the clock above the breakfast nook. "What'd I tell you?" Ending his tale of how he'd met Tania's mum, he followed Carlos back into the study with a freshly steeped and cooled pot of tea. 

"Thank you, Papa." Tania mingled with her bandmates round the side table after Joseph set the tray down, pouring cups for each of them while they thanked their host, too. "Aren't you going to be late for your gig?"

"I'm leaving pretty soon." Joseph walked over to the stringed instruments resting on their stands in back of the grand piano. Reaching for his bass between Curt's original one and the new one he'd received on his birthday, he tucked it into its case. "I should be back around midnight," he told his daughter. "Are you and Carlos going anywhere?"

"Just to the soda shop to hang out with some friends."

"Home by eleven." Joseph made eye contact with Carlos and Tania, who were both nodding in the affirmative. "What about you, Curt?" Clutching the case's handle, he neared his foster son and his boyfriend sitting cross-legged on the floor by the fire, sipping their tea. "Are you going out?"

"Can . . . Roland just stay here and watch TV with me?"

"Of course." Joseph smiled at them. "Roland, you know you're welcome here anytime. This is Curt's home now. I don't want you boys to do anything differently to what you did before he lived here."

Roland smiled back at him. "Thank you, Joseph."

"Yeah, thank you, Joseph." Curt closed his eyes for a second. He was still sitting on a Persian rug in Paradise when he opened them. "For everything. I'll never be able to repay you." He found himself on his feet with no forethought at all, hugging the man who'd rescued him from the depths of hell. 

Danny observed Tania and Carlos sitting together on the couch. Then he took in the Norman Rockwell-like scene in front of the glowing hearth. Stirring a lump of sugar into his cup, he tapped the spoon against the rim much louder than necessary. "Hey, aren't you gonna ask me if _I'm_ going out?!" 

. . . . .

Curt snaked his hand behind Roland's waist, scooping him closer into his side. Still sitting with him in the now-dying firelight, he wrapped his arms around him and nipped at his collarbone. Unable to stop himself from inching upward, he licked and lightly sucked on his boyfriend's neck. "Ro?" he whispered, nuzzling the small mark he'd left.

Roland quivered, melting in Curt's embrace. "Yeah?"

"I thought they'd never leave."

Roland took Curt's face in his hands. "Kiss me." Pressing his lips onto Curt's, he wondered if he'd ever love him more than he did right then. Not possible, he felt in his heart, their tongues dancing together while he drifted further and further under his spell. Curt was gazing at him when he reentered the land of coherence. All Roland knew, lost in his gaze, is that he would have followed him to the ends of the earth.

Or to the majestic staircase in Joseph's foyer. 

Curt rose to his feet and helped Roland off the floor. Taking his hand, he towed him out of the study and up the steps, his pulse racing faster the higher they climbed. He paused on the second story landing and kissed him again. "I love you, Roland."

Roland's breath caught in his throat. "Fuck, Curt. I'm gonna fucking explode. Where's your room?"

Curt grinned, silently leading him down the long hallway and through his open door. Locking it first, he steered Roland over to his bed and fell down onto the duvet with him. "Come here, baby," he finally said, pulling Roland on top of himself and circling his arms around his back.

Roland inhaled Curt's scent as they groped each other in familiar patterns, impatient to get rid of the clothes in their way. Undoing the buttons on his boyfriend's shirt, he looked into his eyes. "God, Curt, I've missed you so much." 

"I've missed you, too." Curt reached for Roland's belt. Under usual circumstances, he would have had it unbuckled and his jeans open in seconds flat, but . . . why was he so reluctant? And Roland. Why hadn't he grabbed his shirt and ripped it off of him yet? He took a deep breath and let it out. "Why does this feel . . ."

"So wrong?" Roland laid his head on Curt's shoulder. "Is it kind of disrespectful to Joseph?"

"I guess."

Roland rolled off of Curt and lay on his side, propping his head up with his hand. "It's been so long, but I can't do this in here."

"I can't either." Curt sat up and scooted away from Roland. Perched on the edge of the bed, he stared into space. "At least we have a conscience."

Roland sighed, shaking his head. "Fucking conscience."

. . . . .

Curt met Roland in the park the next afternoon. It was a bit of a longer walk for him now, but their tree had been neglected for almost seven weeks. Sitting shoulder to shoulder with his boyfriend against its trunk, life seemed to have finally returned to normal. Curt held Roland's hand, his Cheshire grin refusing to hide. "Guess who came to see me this morning?" 

"Who?" 

"Just take a guess."

"Um, The Prince of Wales?"

"Funny."

"I thought so." Roland squinted up into the summer sun. "I have no idea. Who came to see you?"

"Shaun. He brought me the rest of my clothes and all my stuff."

"That's good."

"Uh-huh. And guess what else?"

"What?"

"He turned eighteen last week."

"Really?"

"Yup." Curt nodded, still grinning like a loon. "Guess what he did the day after his birthday? You'll never guess. But try to guess."

Roland stared at Curt. Was he _trying_ to drive him crazy?

"Come on, baby. Take a g-"

"Oh, my God, Curt! TELL ME!"

Curt laughed and raised their clasped-together fingers up to his mouth, kissing Roland's. "He moved away from home and rented a flat with one of his mates. He's been saying he's gonna do it, and now he did it."

"Whoa."

"I know. He wanted to take Brett and me with him, but Brett's too young and I'm safe at Joseph's."

"Yeah, you're safe." Roland looked at Curt and frowned. "Safe from me. What a pity."

"Not for long." 

"Not for long?"

"Nope."

Roland froze. "Okay, you've got my attention."

Curt glanced down at his cotton sweatpants. "Guess what's in my pocket?"

"I _know_ what's in your pocket, Curt."

"Not that!" Curt giggled along with Roland. "Well, that. But something else, too. Go ahead and grab it," he said, thoroughly expecting the side-eye boring into his face.

"You're evil. You know how desperate I am." Roland's hand slowly crept up Curt's thigh. "This reminds me of the movie theater." Feeling his way into Curt's pocket, his fingertips slightly strayed.

Curt groaned. Craving Roland's touch, he prayed to the gods of self-restraint while his boyfriend dug deeper into his pocket.

"What's this?" Roland grasped the object that wasn't attached to Curt's body and pulled it out. "A key?"

"Not just any key." Curt's killer smile was back. "It's to Shaun's flat. He said I can come over whenever I want and let myself in if they're not home."

"Oh, my God." Roland dared to dream the impossible. Was this really happening? "I suppose they have full-time jobs? To support themselves?" 

"Nine to five."

Roland's arms shot up around Curt's neck. "I love you so much, baby!" Poking his tongue into Curt's mouth, he kissed him long and hard. Then he slowly drew back, peering into his eyes.

"What?"

Roland's grin rivaled Curt's. "Guess where we're going tomorrow?"


	10. Chapter 10

CHAPTER TEN - AREN'T WE READY?

Roland held the pencil in his teeth while he strummed the end of his newest song, hearing exactly how Curt would sustain the lyric on the very last note until its gradual fade-out. He grabbed the pencil and beamed from ear to ear, his guitar hanging in front of himself as he leaned over the staff paper on his desk and jotted down the closing bars. Writing The Way You Are in the middle of Curt's vocal range, Roland just knew his boyfriend would turn it into a uniquely dulcet piece.

He printed the title at the top of the page and rummaged around for the sheet music to his other recently completed song, placing both of them into his open guitar case on the bed. He'd also written Change specifically for Curt's voice. Still grinning like a madman, he couldn't wait to show up at their next rehearsal with his tailor-made labors of love for him.

. . . . .

Curt stepped out of the shower and lifted the freshly laundered towel Catherine had hung in his en suite bathroom that morning off the rack. Patting his wet chest and face a few times, he wrapped the plush terry cloth around his waist and tucked the corner in. Then he leaned close to the mirror above the sink, inspecting his fifteen-year-old complexion. Smooth as silk, once he found his electric razor and took care of the thinly scattered whiskers that made an appearance on his face every few days. 

Teetering on the brink of manhood wasn't easy, but at least he could grab hold of Roland and haul him along. Or, maybe just hold his hand on their way to Shaun's flat?

Curt sneaked up on his boyfriend when he spied him daydreaming near their tree. "How come you're so cute?" Swooping in for a kiss, he pecked his lips.

"How come you smell so good?" 

"How come you look like you're keeping a secret from me?"

"How come you're so nosy?"

Curt laughed and reached for Roland's hand. "Ready?" The ten minute walk to the site of their trysts was always part of the fun. He eyed Roland sideways as they started out of the park. "Someone has a birthday coming up on Saturday. What should we do for it?"

"Can we just, um, spend it together? Alone? I don't want a party. I only want you."

"You have me. I'm sure Joseph won't mind if I throw you a big celebration at the house."

"Curt?" Roland stopped walking and faced him. "I'm serious. I just want to be with you that night. Shaun and Trevor work late at the restaurant on Saturdays, and I want a private celebration. Just you and me." He leaned in and kissed Curt's mouth. "Okay?"

"Well, when you put it like that . . ." Curt smiled, and Roland wondered what he'd ever done to deserve him. "I can't deny you anything you want, can I? A private party it is, then. Just you and me."

Roland smiled back at him. "You won't regret it."

. . . . .

Curt unbuttoned Roland's shirt and nudged it from his shoulders. Dropping the last article of clothing either of them had worn into Shaun's den on top of the pile at their feet, he took the blanket from the back of the futon and spread it out on the cushioned surface, pulling his boyfriend down with him. Lying face-to-face, Curt looked into Roland's eyes and caressed his cheek. "You're so gorgeous, Ro."

"You are." Roland's hands traveled all over Curt's bare skin. Eventually wrapping around him, they drew him into a tight embrace. "You feel so good," he whispered, snuggling even closer. 

Curt's fingertips drifted up and down the sides of Roland's rib cage, both of them growing harder as they squirmed and rubbed against each other. "God, you make me fucking crazy, Roland." His right hand gradually creeping lower, he slipped his tongue between his boyfriend's lips while he fondled him, feeling him double in girth and length. He couldn't contain the soft growl escaping from somewhere deep within when Roland's hand sank downward and mirrored his actions.

Kneading each other with long, even strokes, they kissed, losing pieces of themselves in euphoria until Roland's jagged, halting breaths signaled he wouldn't last much longer. Curt licked a trail from his ear to his inner thigh, sliding down Roland's body. Engulfing him in his mouth, he palmed the base of his beautiful pink stiffness and tugged and squeezed while he sucked. 

Roland lay helpless, writhing and gasping and unconsciously bunching and releasing wads of chenille in his fists. Leaking milky-white droplets onto Curt's tongue, he felt his muscles tense. "Fuck, Curt. I'm gonna . . ." 

Curt squeezed tighter and sucked faster. When had driving Roland over the edge become his favorite thing to do? 

". . . aaaahhh, fuck!" Roland watched an explosion of fireworks light up behind his eyelids, erupting in his boyfriend's mouth. "Jesus fucking Christ!" Lingering in a state of bliss, his heart pounded in his chest while Curt swallowed the present he'd given him and left tiny kisses between his legs. The blood finally started to seep back into his brain when Curt shinnied up beside him again. "How'd you get so good at that?" 

Curt gnashed his crotch into Roland's hip. "Practice?"

"Hell, yes." Roland kissed him, snaking his hand between them and clasping his fingers around Curt's still-raging erection. "What are we gonna do about this?"

"Um, what we always do?" Curt groaned as Roland slowly jerked him, nearly losing it when the pad of his boyfriend's thumb rubbed back and forth over his oozing tip. He closed his eyes, inhaling the sensation. 

"Or we could . . . "

Curt exhaled, anticipating Roland's puffy lips and wet tongue gliding up and down on him until he burst wide open. Soon. Any second now. Come on, baby, what's the problem? Peeling one eye open, Curt found Roland gazing at him in a way he'd never seen before. "Or we could what?"

"Do you ever think about . . ." Roland hesitated. He didn't know why because it was all _he'd_ thought about for days. The corners of his mouth curved upward. "Going all the way?" 

Curt's forehead wrinkled up when he choked on absolutely nothing at all. "Oh, my fucking God, Roland." Blinking too many times, he scratched at a phantom itch on the side of his face. "All the way? As in . . . all the way?!"

"Uh-huh. I love you, Curt. I . . . want you."

"Jesus." Curt cleared his throat. And again. He told himself to stop. "What's gotten into you, Ro?"

"You. Hopefully." Roland laughed, expecting a giggle from Curt that never came. He kissed him, deflated when he didn't respond. "You want to make love to me, don't you?"

Curt gnawed on his bottom lip. He avoided Roland's eyes. "Yeah. When we're ready. I thought we were gonna wait."

"Wait for what?" 

"For when we're ready." 

Roland skewed an eyebrow at his boyfriend. "Aren't we ready? We've been together a year and a half."

"I know how long we've been together. I thought we were kinda scared to do anything else." Curt sighed. Why did it feel as if the walls were closing in on him? He ran his fingers through his unruly bangs and sat up. "Christ, Roland. I don't want to hurt you."

"You won't hurt me, baby. I'm not scared anymore. I know I'll never love you more than I do now. It'll be a beautiful thing." Roland sat up, too, parting Curt's braids and kissing the nape of his neck. He tried to pull him back down, but Curt leaned over the side of the futon and grabbed his underwear off the floor. "Where're you going?"

"I've gotta get home. Joseph's taking me to my last physical therapy appointment today." 

Roland watched Curt stand up and put his clothes on. Longing to erase the emotional distance between them, he felt the knots in his stomach expanding by the minute. He peered at him through his lashes when Curt pecked his cheek. "Wait for me. I'll leave with you."

"I need to hurry. I'll see you tomorrow at rehearsal."

Roland cradled his head in his hands after Curt walked out the door. Bloody hell! Why didn't he suck him off first and _then_ shock the ever living fuck out of him?!

. . . . .

Roland woke up the next morning with a set of steak knives slicing up the back of his throat. He tried to swallow, abandoning that idea because the pain just wasn't worth it. Rolling out of bed with a dull headache, too, he stumbled into the bathroom and searched for the aspirin bottle his mum kept in the medicine cabinet. Two tablets and a couple of hours later, he felt as though he might live after all and headed out to rehearsal. 

Tania scanned through the pages of sheet music he handed her. "Whoa. Two new songs today? You've been busy, haven't you, Ro?"

"Actually, they came together pretty easily." Roland reached back into his guitar case and found the lyrics he'd written out for both songs. "Here you go, baby." Giving them to Curt, he couldn't stifle his wide grin while he waited for him to check them out.

Curt shook his head, reading 'CURT - SOLO VOCALIST' at the top of each one. "Roland, no."

"No?"

"You just wrote Mad World for me. We need some songs that you sing now. Or something we do together, like The Hurting." Curt held the lyrics down by his side and looked at Roland. "You should at least sing backup with me."

Roland let out a long sigh. His shoulders drooped while he rubbed the back of his neck. "They're solo songs. I wrote them for you." 

"I shouldn't be singing all these solos. That's gonna be so boring."

"How would it be boring? They were written for your voice. You're gonna kill with both of them."

"I don't want to kill. The Duckz should kill. You know?"

"You haven't even looked at them." The gnarling in the pit of Roland's stomach was back. Even worse than it'd been the day before when Curt put an abrupt end to their alone time. "Let Tania play Change. You're gonna like it." 

"Jesus, Roland. That's not the point."

Roland coughed into his hand. Then he sneezed, which was kind of good because the last thing he wanted was for Danny or Tania to pick up on his teary eyes. He walked over to the window. The grey sky matched his cloudy vision. "What's the point, Curt?" 

Curt huffed and dropped the lyrics on the couch. "You haven't heard a word I said, have you?"

"I heard you." Roland blinked a few times. Trapped in his whirling mind, he needed some breathing room, his feet carrying him past the drum kit and out of the study with a mind of their own. 

Curt's head flopped down. He closed his eyes for a minute and pinched the bridge of his nose. "Goddamnit, Roland." Aiming a death glare at Danny, he hurried out of the study, too, tailing Roland as he sped through the kitchen and outside to Joseph's back garden. 

Catherine eyed the whirlwind blowing through, sitting at the table while she polished the silver. She knew trouble in Eden when she saw it.

Curt stepped out of the French doors, turning around to latch them shut before he confronted Roland. "What in the fuck was _that_?"

"What in the fuck was _what_?"

"Danny. I don't really like the way he stares at your ass." 

Roland's jaw gaped open, his face morphing into one big fat question mark. Who was this alien life-form, and what had it done with his fucking boyfriend? "What the hell are you on about?"

"He stares at your ass, Roland. I don't like it."

Roland almost laughed. "You know what, Curt? You sound like a fucking lunatic. You're still weirded out from yesterday, aren't you? You couldn't handle it when I said I wanted to go all the way, and now you're acting like an idiot."

Curt's hands curled into tight balls, steam practically radiating out of his ears. "Don't do that, Roland. Don't drag our personal shit into this. This is about work. I'm saying you need to sing more, and you just ignore me. I don't have any input at all about what happens in this band, do I?"

"Oh, my God." Roland tilted his head up as far as it would go. Then he stared at his shoes. "You know I despise my voice. Hell, it hasn't even completely broken yet. Yours is more mature right now. It sounds so much better."

"See? You just proved my point. You think you're the only one who can identify a good sound. I'm just as adept at it as you are. Why don't you trust me?"

Roland massaged his aching temples with his fingers. "I know what I want for these songs."

"Yeah. What _you_ want." Curt paced across the garden, finally turning back toward Roland. "You always like the way our voices sound blended together. Why can't we do them like that?" 

"Because! They're solo songs, Curt! I wrote them for you and you don't even want them. Do you know how that makes me feel?" Roland sneezed again. Fuck! Why was Curt being so pigheaded?

. . . . . 

Joseph came home and poked his head into the study, baffled by the lack of music filling the house. Going in to investigate further, he walked up to Tania and Danny and their game of gin rummy. "No rehearsal today?"

Tania laid down a three-card meld. "Can't rehearse till Curt and Roland quit fighting." 

"Curt and Roland are fighting?" Joseph glanced at his watch. It was the end of the world already?!

"Strange, huh?" Tania smirked at her dad. "They're usually so . . . together."

"They're human. Disagreements are part of every healthy relationship," Joseph reasoned. Mostly for his own benefit. Leaving Tania and Danny at the game table in the study, he followed his early afternoon appetite on its quest for food.

That's when Danny discarded his useless four of clubs and drew the much-needed queen of hearts. Which led his imagination right back to the Duckz's prolific songwriter. Who was currently queening out over his authority being challenged. Damn! Pissed off Roland was hot!

Standing at his kitchen island, Joseph slapped an array of cold cuts onto a hoagie roll, trying not to pay too much attention to Curt's and Roland's uncharacteristic frowns and raised voices just outside the door. Knowing they needed their space to squabble, he'd never dream of interfering, yet Catherine caught him stealing furtive glances at them through the beveled glass. 

"They've been at it a good fifteen minutes," she told him, burnishing a dab of polish into the sterling coffee pot. 

"They'll be okay. Two people in that close of a relationship are bound to argue with each other from time to time. They'll work out whatever's bothering--" Joseph's thought was left dangling in limbo when he looked up from his hero sandwich to find Roland on a bit of a coughing jag. He winced as the lad turned his head and sneezed into the crook of his arm. "Uh-oh."

Catherine watched him fill a mug with cool water and venture out to the garden, only because he had to. 

"Are you feeling alright, Roland?" Joseph held the mug out toward him. "Better have some water. How long have you been coughing and sneezing?"

"Thanks." Roland took a drink. The pointy knives in his throat were at it again when he forced the water down. "It just started this morning." 

Joseph's brow furrowed. Hating what he was about to say, he laid a hand on his foster son's shoulder. "Jenny shared all your medical records with me, Curt. I had to vow to keep you from any known viral and bacterial contaminants to the best of my ability as part of the custody arrangements. Because of your splenectomy, you can easily become infected by germs now and fall seriously ill, so . . ." Joseph shifted his attention to Roland. "Until we know what you've got brewing, you boys need to stay away from each other." 

One side of Curt's face scrunched up. "I actually forgot about that."

"I did, too." Roland inched toward the door Joseph hadn't closed, stepping back into the kitchen.

Joseph considered both lads. They'd shot up like weeds since he first met them. Hard to believe they'd be grown men in a few short years. "I'm sorry, guys. Just until you're better, Roland. I'm responsible for you, Curt. I don't want to be neglectful." 

"I guess I should go." Roland coughed and then sought out Curt's eyes. "I'm right about the songs, though."

Curt made a snorting noise. "No, you're not."

. . . . .

Roland fixed himself a cup of tea when he got home. Stirring in loads of honey, he stood near the stove and nursed the soothing beverage, knowing all too well the small relief it provided his angry throat would soon be gone. Never one to procrastinate before, he stared at the phone and weighed the pros and cons of picking it up and making the call. What was the worst that could happen? She'd say no? Exactly.

He looked over at Julian in the living room and interrupted his afternoon TV marathon. "Hey, where's that paper with Mum's work number on it?" 

"I don't know." Riveted to Superman's latest adventure, Julian needed his brother to shut up.

"Come on. You had it the other day when you called her. Where'd you put it?"

"Look in the drawer."

"Which drawer?"

"I don't know." Julian grabbed the remote and punched up the volume. "Be quiet, Roland."

Roland rolled his eyes. Had he ever been this annoying to Carlos? He made a mental note to apologize to him as soon as he came home, just in case he _had_ been, finally discovering the scrap of note paper sticking out of the phone book after ten minutes of searching. He ran a hand through his hair and took a deep breath before he dialed the number on it. 

She answered on the second ring. "Abbey Hotel. How may I direct your call?"

"Hello, Mum?"

"Roland! You boys aren't supposed to call me here unless it's an emergency. I'll talk to you when I get home."

"Wait! Don't hang up. This _is_ an emergency. Sort of."

"What is it? You know I can't tie up this line."

Roland shook his head. Why didn't people just fall to earth with no family connections at all? "I'm sick, Mum. Can you take me to the doctor? I think I need some medicine or something."

"You were fine yesterday. You can't be sick."

"I woke up with it. A bad sore throat and a headache. And I'm coughing and sneezing. Please, Mum. Can you get off early and take me to see Dr. Lindstrom?"

"No, I can't get off early. Just have some cough drops, Roland."

Roland clutched the receiver in his hand long after the line went dead. He'd been wrong. A 'no' answer wasn't the worst that could happen. It was the feeling of abandonment that enveloped his soul.

. . . . .

"Last big pan, and we're done. Thanks for your help, Curt." Catherine rinsed the suds off the skillet and gave it to him to dry, grateful for the extra pair of hands he offered after they'd eaten that evening and she started to clear the table. "It goes on the top shelf in the pantry if you want to put it away for me."

"Sure. I can do that." Curt stood on his tiptoes and set the pan back into its place. "My mum never really cooked for us. It was pretty much every man for himself at my house." Closing the pantry door, he hung the dish towel on its hook. "Thank you for all the wonderful meals."

"You're very welcome." Catherine untied her apron and took it off. "Look at that! I'm finished so early! Thanks to you, dear." She gathered her bag and sweater from the chair in the corner, gearing up to leave. "I'll see you tomorrow."

"I'll be here." Curt turned off the light and followed her out of the kitchen. He was halfway up the staircase toward his room when Tania decided she'd had enough Mozart for one practice session and started tinkering around with something else. 

Curt stopped in his tracks. Definitely not one of the three B's, her usual after-dinner companions. It was catchy and hooky and he instantly fell in love with it. Slowly descending back down the steps, he lowered himself to sit on the third one, the warm melody etched into his brain after a couple of Tania's run-throughs. 

"Which one is it?" he asked her, finding himself at the piano.

"Change."

"A Minor, right?"

"Uh-huh." Tania nodded, looking up at Curt as she played the end of it. "Your perfect key."

Curt found Roland's handwritten pages of lyrics on the couch, right where he'd dropped them that afternoon. Studying the words to Change for a few minutes, he cleared his throat and then produced an extended A Minor note as a short warm-up. "One more time? From the top?"

"You sound amazing, Curt." Tania laid her hands in her lap after his impromptu performance. "Roland knows what he's doing, doesn't he?"

Walking over to the window, Curt noticed the earlier grey sky had evaporated away. He smiled at the splash of stars twinkling in the velvety black night. "He always does."


	11. Chapter 11

CHAPTER ELEVEN - YOU WERE RIGHT

Curt continued to gaze through the window while Tania worked out the other song Roland had given her that day. Memorizing the constellations along with The Way You Are's alluring melody, he saw the only move he could possibly make next written all over the evening sky. Still smiling, he left her at the piano and went across the hall.

Joseph laid the newspaper aside when Curt walked into the library. "Let me take a wild guess. That song you were just singing is called Change."

"How'd you ever figure that one out?" Curt laughed with Joseph. "Roland's rather obvious, isn't he?"

"Just a little. Your vocals are spot-on in that song, though. He writes for your voice a lot of the time?"

Nodding, Curt stared at his shoes for a minute. "That's what I wanted to ask you about. I know I can't be near him while he's sick, but I really need to talk to him." He looked back up at Joseph. "Tonight." 

"That's why I put a separate phone line in your room. I know you guys need your privacy."

"Yeah, but . . . I need to talk to him face-to-face. Well, not really face-to-face. But not on the phone. Okay?"

Joseph skewed an eyebrow. "What?"

Curt sat in the chair that faced his. Surely, he'd understand? "There's this window in his room we used to talk through when it was late and his mum wouldn't let him out. When we were kids. Well, you know what I mean. When we were thirteen and hiding the fact that we liked each other. I'd sneak away from my house and sit outside under that window and Roland would sit under it in his room and we'd talk through the screen." Coming up for air, he shook his head. "It sounds dumb. I know. But we just needed to talk to each other. And after today, I really need to talk to him now, too."

"I can appreciate wanting to clear the air after your argument, but-"

"It's so much more than that, Joseph. Please. I'll just walk over there and sit outside. I promise I won't go in or get anywhere near him." Curt held his breath, waiting for permission to go to his boyfriend's house. Absurd, since he'd been going there whenever he felt like it from the beginning. But having a foster parent who truly cared about him ruled out any notion of deceit.

Joseph spent a few moments in thought. Then he checked the time and stood up. "I was actually going out for awhile myself. I'll drive you to Roland's and then pick you up about an hour later? Will that work?" 

"Oh, my God!" Curt sprang to his feet. Hugging Joseph felt so natural. "I knew you'd get it. Thank you, Joseph. Let me just call him and tell him to open the window." Not wanting to waste time going up to his room, Curt hurried into the kitchen and dialed Roland's number. 

Julian picked up after eight rings. "Hello?"

"Julian? Where is everybody?" Curt wrinkled up his forehead at the receiver in his hand. "Is Roland there?"

"No."

"No? But he's not feeling well. Where is he?"

Eyes pasted on the TV, Julian squealed when Clark Kent ducked into a phone booth.

"Julian, where's Roland?"

Julian needed Curt to shut up. "Carlos took him to the doctor. Curt?"

"Yeah?"

"Can you be quiet now?"

. . . . .

Roland sneezed into a tissue just as his brother pulled his car into their driveway and parked. "Thanks, Carl. I guess we'll add this to the long list of things I owe you for."

Carlos cut the engine and looked over at Roland. "Hey, somebody's gotta help you out now and again. We can barely remember our father, and Mum's always working. We need to stick together."

"But you just spent a ton of money on me. The shot and the prescription. Even the office visit. I know all that shit isn't cheap."

"Don't worry about it, Ro. You can pay me back when you're rich and famous. It's gonna happen for you and Curt. You guys don't even know how good you are." Carlos opened the door and climbed out of his car, randomly scanning the front of the house while Roland got out, too. "Okay, why's he sitting over there under our bedroom window?"

Curt waved to Roland from his spot on the grass.

Roland's grin threatened to split his face in half. "Uh, we need to talk," he told his brother, asking him for one more favor as they started inside. "Can you keep Julian busy so I can have the room for awhile? I can't be near Curt because I'm sick, but we're gonna talk through the window."

"The Superman junkie? I think he's ready to camp out in front of the TV all night."

Julian really needed his brothers to shut up when they walked in the house snickering. "Be quiet, Carlos! You, too, Roland!"

. . . . .

Roland raced into the bedroom and closed the door. Dropping his bottle of amoxicillin on his desk, he slid the window open and got comfortable on the floor beneath it. "Curt?"

"Change is a killer song. So's The Way You Are. I'm gonna fucking kill everywhere we do them."

"Hi, baby."

"Hi, baby."

"You're back."

"I'm back."

"Where'd you go?"

"I don't know. Out of my mind, I guess." Curt ran a hand through his hair. "It wasn't pretty. Don't go there."

Roland laughed, thanking his lucky stars for sending his boyfriend home. "Alien Curt was weird."

"He's dead and gone. I murdered him in his sleep. You went to the doctor?"

"Yeah. My mum wouldn't take me, so I asked Carlos when he came home from work. I have tonsillitis."

"Ouch. I hope you got some medicine."

"I got a penicillin shot and an antibiotic. My doctor said I won't be contagious anymore after I've been on it twenty-four hours, and I already took the first pill when we picked it up. You know what that means, don't you?"

Curt glanced at his watch. "That I can start kissing you again tomorrow night at six forty-five. I mean, if you feel better."

"I'll feel better. He said that shot's a wonder drug. So you like the songs?"

"They're really good, Ro. I don't know why I was being such an ass at rehearsal today."

Roland was kind of glad Curt couldn't see him nodding. "I can't believe we were fighting like that in front of everybody."

"It was all my fault. I behaved like a child." Hanging his head, Curt studied the stray dandelions at his side. "It's always been your band, Roland. I was happy when you asked me to join it, and I'm still happy to be in it. You want me to sing lead on so many songs? I'll sing lead!" 

"The Duckz wouldn't even be the Duckz without your voice and your bass playing. Everything would fall apart without you, Curt. And I do trust you. Don't think I don't."

"I know you do, baby. I shouldn't have said that." Curt took a deep breath. He sighed as he let it out. "You were right. I was just arguing with you for no reason 'cause I was still freaked out from yesterday. At Shaun's. When you said . . . you know. What you said."

"Oh, my God, Curt. You can't even utter the words." Roland tried to stifle his laugh. "I shocked you to death, didn't I?"

"You shocked the fucking hell out of me, Roland!"

"I know. I'm sorry."

"You're not sorry one bit. You're laughing right now, aren't you?"

"No." Roland giggled so long it threw him into another coughing jag while Curt slowly shook his head from side to side.

"It's a good thing I can't come in there and tackle you, you know that? I'd fuck you so hard you wouldn't be able to sit down for a week!" Jesus Christ! Curt slapped his hand over his mouth, his eyebrows zigzagging across his forehead. Did he just fucking SAY THAT?!

"That's the spirit! Now you're getting to like the idea!"

Curt started laughing in spite of himself. But his mind was reeling. He gnawed on the side of his thumb, attempting to sort it all out. "You're not kidding about this, Ro?"

"I'm not. We said we'd wait, but that was so long ago. I don't even know why we're waiting."

"I don't either." Curt plucked a couple of the pretty yellow weeds out of Roland's lawn. Was it such a bad idea? Would the world stop turning if he came around to Roland's point of view? "You're really not scared anymore?"

Roland was the opposite of scared. Thank fuck he knew his boyfriend inside and out. How Curt's brain worked. His wanton plot seemed to descend upon him from out of the blue. "How about this? You want me to forgive you for being an ass at rehearsal, right?"

"Yeeaahh . . ." Curt squinted up into the moonlight. What the hell?

"I will. On one condition."

Games? Seriously? "And what would that be?"

"Saturday night. My birthday. You let me do anything I want. To you. With you. All you have to do is lie there. You know . . . be submissive. And I'll forgive you for behaving like a child."

Curt didn't want to grin like a fool. But his face betrayed him, lighting up brighter than a Christmas tree. "Um, isn't that, like, sexual blackmail?"

"That's exactly what it is." Roland's face achieved the impossible, somehow outshining Curt's.

"Okay, then. Sounds . . . great?"

"You won't regret it."

"That's what you said yesterday. You devious minx."

Roland laughed. "That's why you love me, Curt."

"That's why I love you, Ro." Curt was still beaming when Joseph pulled up in front of the house. Brushing himself off, he started to climb to his feet but stayed put as Joseph had parked his car and was walking across the grass toward him.

"Don't want to intrude, but . . ." Joseph took one look at Curt. "You boys ironed everything out?" 

"Yup. We're all good now." Curt crossed his legs, looking up at the window. "Aren't we, baby?"

"We're fabulous. Hi, Joseph."

"Hi, Roland." Joseph had to chuckle. He'd never talked to a blank window screen before. Surprising both lads, he crouched down and sat under it with Curt. "I've got some exciting news for you guys. At least I think you'll find it exciting." He laughed outright when they replied in stereo.

"What is it?"

"I just had coffee with the other guys in my trio. Terry's been putting the Bath Music Festival together for months now, and he said one of the groups from Bristol he was counting on just dropped out, leaving him with a twenty minute gap in the lineup." Joseph nodded when Curt and Roland audibly gasped. "I know. He said he heard my daughter's band is an excellent secondary school group, and he asked me if she wanted the spot. Well, I told him my daughter plays keyboard _in_ an excellent secondary school group and that it's fronted by two gifted singer/musicians and I'd have to ask _them_ if they want the spot."

Curt's eyes rounded into saucers. "Hear that, Ro?!"

"I can't believe it! That's incredible!"

"My trio has a spot, too. We'd be playing the same gig." Joseph raised his hand when Curt did, smiling as he high-fived him. Then he looked back up at the window. "So should I tell Terry the Duckz accept his invitation?" He wished he'd covered his ears when Curt and Roland cranked up the stereo volume.

"Yesss!"

. . . . .

Curt held the door open for Tania and then followed her into one the nicer jewelry stores in downtown Bath. Checking out the various display cases, he found the one he wanted and steered her over to it. "Let's look at these."

"Ooh, they're pretty." Tania took her time, searching with Curt for the ideal choice. "You're the best boyfriend a guy could ever have, Curt. It's so cool of you to get Ro a ring for his birthday."

Curt smiled at her, grateful that she'd agreed to tag along and offer her all-important feminine opinion. "You've known him a long time now, so . . . you can help me decide." Zeroing in on a gold band of interlocking hearts, he pointed it out to her. "I like that one."

"Me, too."

He watched her eyes soften as she leaned forward to get a better look. "What do you think? Is it Roland?"

"It's beautiful. He'd love it." Considering a few more rings, Tania gestured to a similar one with a solid backing. "You could have something engraved on the inside of that one."

"Engraving!" Curt conked his forehead with the heel of his hand. "I should have thought of that! I knew I needed to bring you with me today!" Giving her a quick hug, he kissed her cheek. "You're the best! Thank you!"

"What a lovely young couple you two make. Isn't love grand?"

Curt and Tania snapped their heads around just in time to catch the phony interest plastered all over the salesman's face, their heady protests falling on deaf ears. "No, no! Not us! We're not--"

"Shopping for promise rings, are we? Which one may I show you more closely?"

. . . . .

Roland woke from a deep slumber and sat up in his bed. Stretching his arms outward during a lazy yawn, he caught a glorious whiff of- Wait! Was that bacon sizzling in the kitchen? Suddenly famished, he padded down the hallway and found a big breakfast waiting for him on the table.

"Morning, love. Happy birthday."

"Thanks, Mum." Roland slid onto a chair, laying his napkin in his lap while she filled his plate with generous helpings of scrambled eggs, bacon, and toast and jam. "This looks great."

"So, any plans for your big day?" She recalled the day he was born. Fifteen already! "I hope that handsome boyfriend of yours has something special in mind."

Roland laughed, digging into his eggs. "Oh, it'll be special. We're having a private party tonight, and he's gonna take my virginity."

"That's nice, dear." She poured his tea and passed him the sugar. "I miss that sweet Curt. You should invite him over more often." 

"Really?"

"Of course. You two belong together. Tell him I said hi . . . hi . . . hi . . . hi . . ."

Awash in his mum's voice, Roland tossed and turned on the couch, rubbing his temples as he gradually joined the land of the living. Fuck! What the fuck kind of dream was that?! Checking his watch, he jumped up from where he'd dozed off and grabbed his backpack. His stomach said feed me, but it was time to leave.

. . . . .

Curt reached out and pulled Roland into his chest when they walked up to each other in the park. "Happy birthday, baby." Taking Roland's face in his hands, he slipped his tongue between his lips and gave him a sloppy kiss. "You okay? You look kinda . . ."

"My mum says hi. And that I should invite you over more."

"Okay, what?!" Curt did a double take, his eyes bugging out of his head. "I don't see you for two days while you recover from tonsillitis, and you come back crazy?"

"Stark raving mad. Scary nightmares will do that to you. You're gonna visit me in the nuthouse, right?"

Curt laughed, hanging his arm around Roland's shoulders as they headed off to Shaun's flat. "Sounds like I don't even want to know?"

"You don't. Trust me." Roland slung his arm behind Curt's waist. "What's in your backpack?"

"Your birthday present. What's in yours?"

"High-grade silicone based lubricant."

Curt choked on his breath, coughing and sputtering and shaking his head. "Oh, my fucking God, Roland!"

Roland tripped over his feet trying to keep up with him.

. . . . .

"Go ahead. Open it. I hope you like it."

Roland twisted his gift over and over in his hands, quite taken aback when he tore the wrapping paper off and saw the store's logo imprinted on the small box. "What did you do?"

"Open it." Curt quit pacing in front of the futon and plopped down on it to sit beside him. Eyeing him like a hawk, he froze while Roland slowly pried the lid back. 

"Oh!" Roland found the fourteen karat gold ring and screamed, its two conjoined hearts staring up at him from their velvet nest. "This is beautiful, Curt!" Loosening it from the slot, he brought the elegant piece of jewelry close to his face. "It's gorgeous, baby! Thank you!"

"You like it?"

"I love it. It's so romantic."

Sighing with relief, Curt leaned into Roland's side. "Did you see this?" Using his pinkie nail, he pointed to the single word engraved in tiny cursive script on the inside. "You're mine, Roland." He held out his hand, waiting for him to drop his glistening new present into it. "Forever."

"I'm yours." Watching Curt slide the ring over his knuckle, Roland recited the inscription aloud. "Forever."

Curt raised Roland's fourth finger to his lips and kissed the never-ending gold circle he'd just placed on it. "And I'm yours, Ro. Forever." Every bit as enamored with him as he'd been the day they met, he pressed their mouths together, groaning when Roland unzipped his jeans and rubbed him through his underwear. Growing stiff in a matter of seconds, he only had one question. "Why do we have all these clothes on?"

"Hell if I know." Roland lifted Curt's sweater over his head, holding still while Curt returned the favor. He looked at him as they kicked off their shoes and took turns undressing each other, finally wearing nothing but impressive hard-ons. "Much better," Roland whispered, placing his open palms on Curt's chest.

Curt lay flat on his back after Roland gave him a mild push. His breath hitched when his boyfriend peered into his lust-glazed eyes and bent down.

Roland kissed Curt's rock-hard penis. He swirled his tongue over its spongy head and licked all around its swelled up ridge. Repeatedly. Teasing his boyfriend to the point of insanity, the sound of him begging for more was sweet music to his ears. Roland smiled to himself. Then he swallowed Curt's dick and sucked him silly. 

"Fuck, baby . . ." Curt moaned and squirmed, intoxicated with pleasure. He threaded his fingers through Roland's hair, calling on every ounce of self-restraint he ever possessed. Trying to relax as Roland gradually eased up and pulled off of him, he found himself helpless to stop the previously dormant force of nature barreling out of control. 

Curt sat up and smothered Roland's mouth with his own. Wrapping his arms around him, he guided him down onto his back, grinning as he reversed their places. He reached for Roland's backpack and knelt between his knees. "Put your legs up on my shoulders." Face-to-face first time. Roland deserved no less.

Unhurried with preparation, Curt lubed his boyfriend up and carefully fingered him, coaxing him open little by little. Gingerly inching inside, he began a gentle friction. 

Roland exhaled a breath he didn't even realize he was holding, the fiery stretch starting to feel good when Curt jabbed into his prostate. Rapidly discovering an itch only his boyfriend could scratch, something primal demanded he yank Curt closer on every thrust. _Don't stop! Please don't ever stop!_ The words whirled in Roland's mind as Curt's pace sped up, his throbbing cock ultimately exploding in electrifying jolts. Milky-white ribbons spurted out onto his stomach while his body clenched in spasms.

"Jesus Christ, Roland!" Curt pumped one last time into the vise grip otherwise known as Roland's ass, coming so hard he nearly passed out. "Fuck!" Crumbling down onto his chest, he felt their hearts beating together. "You're fucking amazing, Ro." Melting into Roland's embrace, he closed his eyes. "Sorry, baby."

Roland straightened out his legs. "For what?"

Curt peeked at him one eye at a time. "I wasn't very . . . submissive." 

"You were perfect. So perfect, baby." Roland tightened his grasp around his boyfriend. Gathering as much of him as he could hold, he kissed his lips. "Guess we figured _that_ out, huh?"

"Hell, yes."

Roland kissed him once more. He thought about Shaun's and Trevor's work schedules. "When can we do it again?"

A wild grin blazed across Curt's face. "Hey, I'm fifteen. I can do it again in three minutes."

. . . . .

"Look up, baby. I don't want to get it in your eyelashes."

Curt inspected the ceiling fan in his bathroom while Roland spread a thin layer of Retin-A cream on his right cheek. "You say that every time."

"That's because you never look up unless I tell you to." Roland admired his handiwork on Curt's barely-visible scars and screwed the cap back onto the tube. "This one's almost empty. You're gonna need another one."

"I know." Curt dropped it into his vanity drawer. "Can you even remember what my cheek looked like before it got turned into a road map?"

"Yeah. It looked just like this one." Puckering up his lips, Roland landed a loud smack on Curt's left cheekbone. "And you practically need a magnifying glass to find any of those roads now, drama queen." He reached for Curt's hand. "Come on. Let's go downstairs and watch TV."

(beautiful edit made by tffhoneymoon on Instagram)


	12. Chapter 12

CHAPTER TWELVE - DO YOU LOVE ME?

Joseph stepped into his quiet house a few minutes after midnight, still a bit keyed up from the wedding reception his trio had played that evening. He set his bass down next to both of Curt's and laid his glasses on the piano. What was that beckoning to him in the dark? Yes, a wee nightcap seemed to be just what the doctor ordered right about then. Heading for the liquor cabinet in his library, he squinted at the fuzzy slate blue glow emanating into the hallway. One of these days, Tania would learn to turn off the TV before she went to bed. He took a detour into the den and reached for the dial, nearly jumping out of his skin when he heard a sleep-induced exhale not ten feet away.

Startled, Joseph whipped his head around toward the sofa. Then his face softened. Both deep in slumber, Roland lay on Curt's chest, his steady breaths filling the room. Neither had ever looked more peaceful. Rousing Curt's boyfriend did cross his mind, lest Roland's mother be worried sick, but he wasn't about to let him walk home at this hour of the night. He'd have to drive him. 

Although . . . that brandy snifter calling his name made a pretty strong case for leaving well enough alone. 

Joseph sank down into his wingback chair and swirled the amber liquid around in his glass, smiling at Curt and Roland no doubt starring in each other's dreams across the hall. He thought of how he'd waved good-bye to them earlier that evening through Curt's open bedroom door as Roland dabbed the medicinal ointment onto his fading scars. And how that door was always left open whenever Roland was in Curt's room. Respectful lads, both of them. Joseph took a sip of his cognac. Savoring the smooth burn, he closed his eyes. Had it really been forty years since he'd slept, like Roland, snugly atop his first love's body?

. . . . .

"Shit!" Curt dropped a scoop of vanilla ice cream into the last glass of Coke lined up on the snack bar and watched it swim to the bottom too fast, forcing gooey rivers over the rim and onto the spotless countertop. "Shit! Shit! Shit!" he yelled, prompting loads of giggles from his friends sitting at the breakfast nook. "Catherine's gonna kill me!" 

"Use the sponge!" Tania squealed, looking up from the list she was writing for Roland while he spewed out possible songs they'd play at the music festival. "It's under the sink!" 

Roland glanced over at Curt's soda fountain gone awry. "Jesus, baby. You said you were gonna make us homemade Coke floats, not destroy Catherine's kitchen."

"Hey, just come and help me, alright?" Moistening the sponge, Curt dragged it back and forth through the mess, frowning as a bigger one appeared in its place. "These three are done. Just move them out of my way." He was shaking his head when Roland walked up to him. "I'm such a klutz." 

"My klutz." Roland kissed his shoulder and took a tall glass in each hand, setting them in front of Tania and Carlos before he went back to get the other one for himself. "Don't we need straws?"

"Right here." Curt pointed to the silverware drawer and rinsed out his sponge for the last time, finally wiping the counter clean. Then he finished making his own float and settled back onto the bench seat with Roland across the table from Tania and Carlos. 

Carlos looked at both of them. "You guys are gonna do Pale Shelter, aren't you? That's my favorite song. Put that one down."

"It's long, though. We've got twenty minutes for the whole spot." Curt thought for a minute, shrugging his shoulders. "I guess we could cut out the slap bass section and do a shorter version."

"Noooo!" Carlos protested. "That's the best part!"

"Okay, we time all these songs at rehearsal tomorrow." Roland nodded at his brother. "You're gonna loan me your stopwatch, right? Oh, and we're gonna need you to be our roadie for this gig."

"Cool!" Carlos grabbed his glass and chugged half of his Coke float. Finally! An official job with the Duckz!

Roland lowered his right hand to his lap while he read the list, deciphering the titles, as he saw them, upside down. "So Carl likes Pale Shelter. Which one's your favorite, Tania?"

"Suffer The Children," she slurred, gulping through her straw.

"What about you, baby?" Roland's fingers crept toward Curt under the table. Spreading them across his crotch, he groped him and kept a straight face. "What's your favorite?"

"The Hurting!" Curt choked out, opening his knees. 

"And mine's Mad World." Roland asked Tania to circle the four songs, fondling Curt through his cotton sweatpants. "We'll start with these tomorrow and see how long they are. We've still got a few days to decide on a set list." Finally turning toward his boyfriend, he smiled, their private language alive and well. 

Curt cocked his head and grinned. _What the fuck are you doing?_

_Let's go to Shaun's._

_Now?!_

Roland gathered a large handful of Curt and squeezed.

"Okay, then!" Curt sputtered, Tania and Carlos confused but laughing along with Roland. Draining his float even faster than Roland made his disappear, Curt jumped up and loaded the empty glasses in the dishwasher after everyone finished. He dried his hands and glanced at Joseph when he walked into the kitchen. "Roland and I are just on our way out."

"Oh? Where're you boys off to?"

Curt threw his arm around Roland's shoulders. "We're gonna visit my brother." 

. . . . .

Curt and Roland held hands while they waited in line to get their ID badges. Arriving at the Bath Music Festival fairgrounds in the morning even though they weren't scheduled to play until later in the day, they'd planned to have some fun watching the bands that went on before the Duckz. What they hadn't planned on was the snafu they ran into with management, who kept insisting two fifteen-year-olds couldn't possibly be slated to perform until Terry was called in and set them straight. Curt and Roland finally hung the lanyards around their necks and graciously accepted the staff's apologies. 

Roland shook his head when they walked out of the office. "We're gonna be the youngest guys to play this gig, you know that? I'm kinda nervous."

"Me, too. But Terry liked us that day he sat in on rehearsal. He said we were great, remember?" 

"Yeah, that's true."

"He would have taken the spot away from us if we sucked." Curt took Roland's hand again, wandering around with him checking things out before pulling him into the sea of humanity in front of the stage. Holding him close while they swayed to a mediocre folk band's almost-pleasing strains, he hummed in his ear. "At least we're gonna be better than these guys." 

Roland grinned. "At least." He leaned backward when Curt's arms enveloped him from behind during the next group's set, his back fused into his boyfriend's chest. He turned to look at him on the last note. "Above average."

"Yup." Curt nodded up and down. "Tania blows their keyboardist away, though." 

Roland agreed, dancing with him to the next couple of rock bands and spending the first half of the final love song glued to his side and the second half of it with his tongue in his mouth. Prying themselves apart at the end of the set, Roland reached into his pocket for the printed lineup order Terry had given him when the Duckz formally accepted his invitation.

Curt waited for him to unfold it and read along over his shoulder. "Five more bands and then us."

"Let's get a drink before we find everybody." Roland stuffed the lineup back in his pocket and towed Curt out to the concession stands, where he suddenly realized water just wouldn't do. "See if you can buy us beer. I'll go over there where they can't see me." Pointing to the merchandise table, he glimpsed back at Curt.

"What are you talking about? I can't buy beer." 

"I bet you can pass for eighteen. You look older than I do. Just try it."

Curt laughed when Roland slipped out of sight. He held his head up and bought two beers from a vendor who couldn't have cared less how old he was, catching up with Roland a minute later. "That was simple! How come you're so smart?" 

"I'm just thirsty." Roland swallowed a big gulp when Curt handed him one of the paper cups. "Thanks, baby." He watched Curt take a drink and then unleash his killer smile. "What?"

"Just thinking about the only other time we've had beer."

"The party . . ." Roland beamed back at him. "First time you ever touched me."

"First blow job you ever gave me."

"I don't know how I managed to keep my mouth off your dick until then. I wanted to blow you the day we met."

"Fuck, Roland!" Curt poured more beer down his throat. What would his life be without this lovely creature in it? "You're unbelievable!"

"You love it." Roland guzzled the rest of his beer. "Ready to slay this crowd with our upbeat music and depressing lyrics?"

Curt threw their paper cups in the trash and grabbed Roland's hand. "Hell, yeah."

. . . . .

Backstage at the Bath Music Festival was nothing short of a madhouse. Meeting up with Tania and Danny, Roland hauled them off to a relatively quiet corner to explain a last minute change he'd made on Broken while Curt waited near the loading dock. 

Soon spotting the van Joseph had rented, Curt waved to Carlos behind the wheel and directed him as he backed up the ramp. Thinking he might have to help him with the load-in, he breathed a sigh of relief when Carlos's buddy jumped out of the passenger side. He smiled at both of them. "About an hour till we go on."

"No problem." Carlos unlatched the van's back doors, swinging them open. "We'll have you set up in thirty minutes. Uh, Curt, this is Jake. Jake, this is my brother's boyfriend and partner in crime. I mean singing partner." He laughed when his friend shook hands with Curt. "Wait till you hear them."

"Thanks, you guys." Curt showed them the Duckz's staging area, scanning around for his bandmates. Fuck! "Just be careful with Joseph's drum kit, okay?" Glowering at the corner, his face reddened. Was that steam spouting out of his ears?

"Oh, yeah. Joseph's already schooled us on-" Carlos didn't finish, watching his aforementioned brother's boyfriend pivot on his heels and leave a trail of dust in his place. He reached into the van when Jake did. "Easy with Tania's keyboard . . ."

Curt marched up to the other three Duckz, scowl firmly imprinted on his features. "Whadda ya doin'?"

"I'm telling them about the chord change on the intro."

"I know what you're doing, Ro." Curt inched himself between Roland and Danny, peering into their drummer's face. "What're _you_ doing?" he snarled, making a federal production out of removing Danny's hand from Roland's shoulder.

Doe-eyed Tania stared at Curt, innocent Roland hugged him from behind, and smirking Danny grew taller on the spot, meeting his challenge.

"I'm listening to Roland. Taking a note. Why?"

"Taking a note." Curt's scoff followed his blistering sneer. "You're gonna play the same fill anyway. Doesn't even matter for you." Turning around in Roland's arms, he kissed his lips. "Sorry, baby. Were you finished?"

Roland looked at Tania. "You got it, right?"

"D Major. Got it."

"Yup. All finished." Roland slid both of his hands into Curt's back pockets and tailed him out of the corner. He kissed the braids hanging down his neck. "Somebody's jealous."

Curt plowed forward, seemingly talking to himself. "You're mine, though. He doesn't get to do that."

"I know! I was just about to scream rape. Good thing you came along and rescued me from the clutches of evil." 

Curt rolled his eyes. "I'm gonna fuck you so hard tonight, Roland." 

. . . . .

To say the Duckz killed at the music festival that day would have been the mother of all understatements, as Carlos so eloquently put it when his brother's band walked offstage during roars of thunderous cheers and applause. He hugged Tania and high-fived Roland, Curt, and Danny. "They love you guys! You killed out there! Absolutely killed!" He looked at Jake, his arm still draped across Tania's shoulders. "Didn't they kill?" 

Jake laughed at his friend. "They killed."

"Um, Carl?" Roland checked his watch when the noise factor out in the house diminished and gradually faded away. "You're supposed to be striking the stage so the next band can set up."

"Oh, yeah. Come on, Jake." Carlos landed a quick kiss on Tania's cheek and started onto the stage, nearly bumping into Joseph and Terry as they rushed out of the back wing and up to the Duckz.

"Just be careful with the drum kit," Roland called after his brother. 

Joseph hugged his daughter, then he reached out for Curt and Roland, too. "Great set!" he gushed, even clapping Danny on the back. He looked at Terry with a raised eyebrow. "Pretty good replacement band, huh?"

"They just earned themselves a permanent spot every year. I'm impressed, you guys!" 

Curt caught Roland's eye, both of them grinning like loons while Joseph doled out his praise and Terry carried on about the youngest group ever to play the festival being such a hit. Fond memories they'd always cherish. 

Maybe none as much as the one Curt was about to make with Danny. His spying eyes watching him stride off toward the bathroom after he excused himself, Curt gave him about a minute lead time and then elbowed Roland's side. "Be right back, baby."

Joseph wanted to talk about Broken. "That chord change really works, doesn't it?"

"I think it does." Roland nodded. "You know, I agonized over that for hours last night . . ."

. . . . .

Danny zipped up and turned away from the urinal, startled to discover that Curt had followed him into the loo. And that he'd parked himself entirely too close to the one basin in the tiny space. He eyed him warily and stepped over to the sink. "What's your problem?"

"Knock it off."

"Excuse me?"

"I know what you're doing. Knock it the fuck off."

Danny started to wash his hands, only slightly creeped out by the fact that his bandmate was breathing down his neck. "What am I doing, Curt?"

"You stared at Roland's ass the whole set out there. Do you think I don't see that shit?"

Eyeing Curt in the mirror, Danny shrugged. "So?"

"So find somebody else's ass to stare at."

"You're telling me who I can't look at? Jesus. Get over yourself, dude."

"Just stop," Curt huffed. "Roland's mine."

Danny turned his head and laughed in Curt's face. He shut off the water, but Curt was blocking his way to the paper towels. "What, you think you own him? Because you gave him a ring? I saw it on his finger the day after his birthday. That doesn't mean you own him. It doesn't mean anything."

"Are you fucking serious right now?"

"Maybe it's time for him to have a choice. Did you ever think of that? Why don't you let him decide who he wants to be with instead of dominating him all the time?"

"You think you're gonna come between Roland and me? Is that what you think?" Curt had encountered an awful lot of wrong in his life, but what was happening in that bathroom was so wrong he wanted to double over and puke. His piercing glare ripped Danny to shreds. "You're utterly delusional if that's what you think."

"It's his decision. Let him make it."

"You think he's gonna leave me? For you?!"

Danny contemplated his shoes, as if they held the magic answer. One side of his mouth twisted into a maniacal grin when he looked back up. "Nah, don't worry about it. I'm just messing with you, Curt. I'm not even gay." 

"Riiight . . ." Curt bit his bottom lip. What a closet case! His fingers curling into tight fists, he turned around and started for the door. "Fucking stay away from him, Danny." 

. . . . .

Curt and Roland met the third member of Joseph's trio when he showed up backstage a half an hour before they were scheduled to play. Brad, their thirty-something drummer, was an aging hippie sporting a mane of shaggy locks well past his shoulders who looked as though he'd stumbled into the small provincial town in the West Country directly from Woodstock. 

Standing in the wings as they played the closing set of the festival, Roland aspired to someday be as good of a guitarist as Terry was while Curt wished to holy fuck they'd find out Brad had produced an offspring who was even a tenth of the drummer he was and could be persuaded to join the Duckz. Preferably a daughter. 

All in all, the Bath Music Festival of 1976 turned out to be one of the best experiences they'd ever had. Curt and Roland put their guitar cases in the van at the end of the day and hung around the loading dock with Joseph and Tania while their roadies packed the rest of the gear. 

Joseph smiled at Carlos as he laid the last mic stand down in the back and closed the doors. "Well, you've learned how to assemble and disassemble the drum kit like a pro today! I'm proud of you."

Carlos laughed, glancing at Curt first and then Roland. "I was very careful."

"Yes, you were." Joseph patted him on the back and grinned at all the teenagers who'd become as close to him as his own family. "Catherine's making tacos tonight. Everyone's invited over for a Mexican dinner. I don't know about you guys, but I'm famished." He couldn't mask his fatherly pride when they made noises of approval and confessed to their own starvation. Somehow, though, he wasn't surprised when Curt piped up with his standard newsflash.

"Roland and I are gonna stop by Shaun's first. We'll be home a little later."

. . . . .

Curt lay behind Roland, spooning with his boyfriend and holding him close. Nipping at the side of his neck, he licked and sucked on the tender skin until Roland's blood pooled in bright magenta splotches just beneath the surface. Feeling him shiver as his palm slid up and down his arm, Curt took a deep breath and let it out. "Ro?"

"Uh-huh?"

"Do you love me?"

Roland's eyes widened into saucers, his brow wrinkling up. When exactly had Curt lost his mind? "Um, I better. I think you could be jailed for what you just did to me if I didn't love you. Is sodomy still a crime?" 

"Roland!" Curt scooped him tighter into the curve of his body. "I'm serious, baby. Think about it. If we just met today, would you choose to be with me? If we hadn't been together since we were kids?"

"Of course. I'd always choose you."

"Even if you didn't know I could sing?"

"Well . . ." Roland hesitated, as if he were actually thinking about it. "If I didn't know you could sing, that might change things a bit." He was busy grinning his head off until he felt Curt's breath hitch in his windpipe. "Come on. I'm joking. You know I'd choose you no matter what." 

"You would?"

Roland wiggled around to face him just in time to catch Curt blinking back the moisture threatening to escape the corners of his eyes. "What is it?" He caressed Curt's cheek, softly kissing his lips. "What's wrong?"

"I . . .I just love you so much, Ro. Sometimes I think my heart is gonna burst apart because it all won't fit in there." Lowering his head onto Roland's shoulder, Curt melted in his embrace. "I need you, baby. Don't leave me, okay?"

Roland squeezed him as hard as he could. "I'll never leave you, Curt. I love you more than anything else in my life and I always will. Don't ever forget that."

Curt nodded, trying to swallow the lump in his throat. Basking in Roland's arms, it was a good five minutes before he trusted his voice again. "And I'm gonna quit dominating you. I mean it."

"Dominating me?"

"I don't know. Is that what I'm doing?"

"Only when I let you."

Curt's eyes narrowed. Then they lit up. His kisses onto Roland's chest punctuated each word he uttered next. "Only . . . " ~smack~ "when . . ." ~smack~ "you . . ." ~smack~ "let me! Only when you let me! Oh, my God, Roland! _You're_ dominating _me!"_

"Damn. You weren't supposed to know that." 

"This is it!" Curt couldn't stop laughing. He peppered every inch of his boyfriend's face with noisy smooches. "This is us, Ro! Promise you'll never stop dominating me!"

Roland smiled. A charming smile that reached his eyes and made Curt fall in love with him all over again. "Hadn't planned on it."

(beautiful drawing by empress_anne_flickerman on Instagram)


	13. Chapter 13

CHAPTER THIRTEEN - HIS NAME IS CURT

Margaret Orzabal woke up smiling. Barely able to recall the last time she'd greeted such a glorious Sunday morning, she swiped an errant strand of hair out of her eyes and thought back. Hard to believe it'd been a year since her world came crashing down, what little happiness she claimed from time to time destroyed along with it. No reason to dwell on that now, though. Funny how a casual glimpse at the side of Roland's neck as he'd walked in the door the previous night was all it took to erase a year of gloom. Margaret thanked the universe for her good fortune and hopped out of bed. Her growing brood needed breakfast!

Standing over the griddle a half an hour later, she called out to Julian in front of the TV. "Go wake up your brother and tell him the pancakes are ready." Then she did her best to corral Carlos as he breezed through on his way to work. "Come on, Carl. Sit with us for five minutes. We haven't had a family meal in so long."

Family meal? Carlos looked at her blankly, reaching for the teapot and a cup. Could his mum possibly be referring to one of those things that had curiously ceased to exist when she found out about Roland and Curt? 

She pointed to his place setting on the table. "If you've got time for tea, you can have a quick bite with us." Her face softened when her younger boys wandered into the kitchen. She kissed their foreheads after they sat down and grabbed at the platter of pancakes. "Lovely morning, isn't it, lads?"

Julian agreed, drenching his plate in maple syrup. Roland pinched the back of his hand. He'd had this dream before. The one where his mum is nice again and cooks him breakfast. He didn't wake up and his hand stung. What exactly was happening? Eyeing Carlos across the table, he wrinkled up his questioning brow, both of them at a loss and half-shrugging at each other. 

Margaret took the Sunday newspaper off the counter and settled into her chair next to Roland. "Looks like your band was a big hit yesterday." Laying it down in front of him, she pointed to the large picture of the Duckz on the front page taken mid-performance. "It says here the youngest group ever to play the Bath Music Festival made quite a splash!"

"We're in the paper?" Roland shoveled half a pancake into his mouth and read the short article. Scrutinizing the photograph, he made a mental note to apologize to his boyfriend, who, as it turned out, wasn't a jealous lunatic after all. There it was in black and white. Danny ogling the hell out of his ass from his perch behind the drum kit. Roland tamped down a laugh before his mum noticed. "Yeah, the crowd really liked us."

"I'm sorry I missed it." She poured herself a cup of tea and regarded the son she'd brushed aside for far too long. "I know I haven't been here for you lately, Roland, and I feel bad about that. But things are going to change. We're going to be a family again. Like we used to be. Starting today. Guess where we're going after church?"

"Swimming?" Julian's head popped up. "David and Tommy are meeting at the pool today. Can I go, Mum? Please?"

"Maybe. After we hit the uniform shop. School starts next week, and you and Roland have both grown a foot this summer. Last year's uniforms just won't do." 

Roland nodded. He did need new school clothes, but . . . church? One advantage of being ignored for the past year was opting out of the Sunday morning ritual with no flack whatsoever. But being a close-knit family again sounded awfully good. He guessed forcing himself to sit through church services was a small price to pay in return. Daring to believe he was actually getting his mum back, he peeked at her sideways. 

Jesus! How long had she been staring at him with that goofy grin on her face? Or, more precisely, right at his collar? Roland dropped his fork and clutched at his bathrobe, pulling it up higher around his neck. The big red blotches Curt had left on him at Shaun's place after the festival were barely twelve hours old. Why were they always bigger and redder the next day?! Feeling his ears get warm, he picked up his fork and stuffed more food in his mouth.

Carlos watched his brother shrink in embarrassment, rather amused. "Well, I'm outta here. I'm gonna be late." He checked the time and stood up, putting his teacup in the sink.

Margaret's heart swelled with pride for her eldest son. How much longer did she have before he left the nest? She looked at him and smiled. "I'm still waiting to meet this girlfriend of yours, Carl. When are you going to bring her over?" 

"Um . . ." Gaping at this look-alike stranger, Carlos wondered who she was and what the hell she'd done with his real mother. "I, I'm not sure. You really want to meet her?"

"I do. I haven't been here for you either this last year." She turned back toward Roland and patted his arm, the gleaming ring on his finger with its romantic heart design catching her attention for the first time. Her goofy grin bounced back into place as she zeroed in on his neck again. "I want to meet your new girlfriend, too, Ro. You guys don't have to hide them from me, you know." 

. . . . .

Joseph heard the doorbell ring just as he took the last sip of his Sunday morning coffee. Rising from the breakfast nook, he glanced over at Catherine sweeping the kitchen floor. "I'll get it."

"Thank you, Maestro Borelli."

Joseph smiled at her on his way to the foyer. "How long have you worked for me, Catherine? You know my name is Joseph."

"Yes, Maestro."

He was still smiling when he opened his door. "Shaun! How are you? Come in." Shaking hands with him when he stepped inside, Joseph was once again struck by his close resemblance to Curt. "Good to see you."

"Thanks. You, too." Shaun gawked around at his opulent surroundings, every bit as amazed as he'd been the day he brought his brother's clothes and belongings to him. Did he really call this palace home? "I was just wondering if I can talk to Curt for a bit."

"Sure. He's right in here." Joseph led Shaun into his study and gestured toward the far corner, watching his eyes widen in shock. 

"Wow! His hair's gotten so long!" 

Joseph adjusted his glasses. How much longer could it have grown since the previous evening, when Curt and Roland ran off to see him after the festival and then turned up later to inhale multiple tacos? He wanted to ask, but Curt raised his head and abruptly took his hands off the piano keys.

"Dude! What are you doing here!?"

"Haven't seen you in awhile. Just thought we could . . . talk."

"Uh, yeah . . ." 

Joseph looked over at Curt. Such a puzzling exchange between him and the sibling he visited so frequently. Ever the model host, though, he offered Shaun a cup of coffee. 

"No, thanks. I'm good." Shaun neared the corner after Joseph patted him on the back and left the room. "Look at you in here, playing this grand piano! I guess you're doing great, huh?"

"I can't play worth shit." Curt laughed and stood up. "I'm just toying around with this idea in my head. You should hear Joseph's daughter. Tania's gonna be a concert pianist one of these days." Leading Shaun to the sofa, he faced him when they plopped down in front of the fireplace. 

"You look really good, Curt. Living here's okay?" 

"It's pretty great. Not gonna lie." Curt waved a hand around Joseph's elegant study, the large collection of musical instruments it housed always giving him the alluring vibe of being in an orchestra pit. Grinning with appreciation for his new life, he turned back toward Shaun and . . . uh-oh. What was that sense of uneasiness doing in his now clammed-up brother's eyes? Curt wasted a long chunk of time before he broke the silence. "Okay, spill it."

Shaun hesitated even longer. How he loathed what he'd come there to say! Afraid of poking festering wounds, he slowly met Curt's stare. "It's Mum. She's sick."

"What, like the flu?"

"No. It's serious. Just thought you should know." 

Curt turned and gazed out the window. His mum hadn't occupied any space in his brain for months. Blinking a few times, he tried to kick her out before she got comfortable. "And I should care . . . why? Because we both know she doesn't care about me."

Shaun winced. Just as he'd feared, Curt was still raw. "Look, I'm not saying you should care. She's been utterly despicable, and you have every right to be hurt and mad as hell. I can't stand her either. I just didn't want you to hear this from anyone else."

"God, you sound like she's gonna die or something." Curt mined Shaun's face. Searching for a clue, he saw nothing but pain and anguish. "Just tell me. What is it?"

"Cancer. In her liver. The doctors don't really know how long she's got. I found out yesterday when she rang me."

"Oh." Curt bit his bottom lip. His mum hadn't contacted him once during his lengthy hospital stay. Nor had she made any effort to get in touch with him since losing the custody case. Determined to keep it together, his tried and true coping mechanism echoed in his ears: _It doesn't matter. It doesn't matter._ Sighing, he scratched at a phantom itch on the side of his nose. "How's Brett taking it?"

"He doesn't know. She doesn't want to tell him yet." 

Naturally. Motherly caring for her baby. A phone-ringing relationship with her adult son. Curt stared out the window again. What did she have for him? 

Nothing. 

_It doesn't matter._ "Hey, wanna hear this thing I've been trying to compose?"

What Shaun wanted to do was reach out and hug his brother. But Curt was already halfway back to the corner. "Uh, sure," he said, sticking his hands in his pockets as he followed him. "Oh, I almost forgot. I found this on the floor by the futon. Did you get a new watch?" 

Curt eyed him when he pulled it out of his pocket and handed it over. "That's . . . Roland's. We had the telly on in there last night." He laid his boyfriend's watch on the piano bench beside his leg and looked at Shaun again. "Okay, you gotta remember, songwriting is Roland's thing, not mine. I'm not good at all. I just like the way this sounds . . ."

Tania finally rolled out of bed and peeked at the time, figuring she should join the land of the living since it was almost noon. Sweeping her long dark hair into a ponytail, she threw on a pair of sweats and padded down the back stairs to the kitchen. 

"Well, if it isn't Sleeping Beauty! Stocking up on your rest before school starts next week?"

"Morning, Papa." Tania kissed his cheek. "Let's not talk about school yet, okay?" Reaching into the cabinet for a cereal bowl, she grinned at her dad while the low piano notes from Curt's familiar bass clef melody wafted through the house. "I should remind him he has a right hand."

Joseph visualized Curt's left hand plunking out the deep tones. Over and over. "He's a bass player. And he's never written before. Give him some time." Wondering himself if today would be the day Curt added any treble clef notes to his song, Joseph's head popped up when he heard a new sound. Not Curt's right hand on the piano, but his voice. Not lyrics per se, just . . .

"Lah la la la la, la la la la la . . . "

Tania filled her bowl with sugar-coated flakes, absorbing Curt's repeating vocals as they meshed perfectly with his bass clef melody. She glanced up at Joseph and smiled. "Ooh, that's nice."

"Isn't it?" Catherine came back into the kitchen from the laundry room, humming along with Curt under her breath. "I just love it when that boy sings!"

. . . . .

Roland watched his kid brother hurry out of the car and skip off to join his mates at the local swimming pool, almost wishing he could tag along. Anything, really, to save himself from the dreaded confrontation certain to erupt now that he was alone with his mum and trapped in the front passenger seat. Having already endured both church services and uniform shopping, he eyed her as she pulled away from the curb, just knowing the worst of his day was still to come. 

She felt him looking at her and smiled. "I'm glad Julian has something to do today. It'll give us a chance to talk. You know, to catch up." 

"Catch up?" 

"Yeah. I feel like we've really lost touch this past year. But I want to be part of your life again. I'm done letting you fend for yourself."

Roland groaned, already missing the time he'd spent fending for himself. 

"So much is happening for you right now that I don't know about. Like your new girlfriend. I don't even know her name. Or where you met her. Why don't we start there?"

Shit! The knots in Roland's stomach churned round and round. He stared through the windshield, KILL ME NOW bombarding his mind on a continuous loop.

"Come on, Ro." Margaret's eyes landed on her middle son at the corner red light, the same silly grin she wore at breakfast covering her face. "You don't have to be embarrassed about it."

"I'm not. I'm just . . ." 

"You're fifteen! You're growing up. You're going to have lots of girlfriends. You're going to-"

"Mum! Stop!" Mustering a bolt of strength from somewhere deep within, Roland raised his head and turned toward her. "I don't have a girlfriend, okay? I'm never gonna have a girlfriend. I'm sorry, but that's not who I am."

"Oh, Roland." Margaret smirked at him. "I suppose you bought yourself that promise ring? And gave yourself all those hickeys? I wasn't born yesterday, you know."

"Of course, I didn't give them to myself! Jesus, Mum!"

"Well, then, who did? You've got to be in a relationship with _somebody!"_

Roland swallowed hard. He wiped his sweaty palms on his jeans. "I already told you. I told you a year ago who I'm in a relation with. I'm sure you remember 'cause that's when you started shunning me."

"What?!" No. No, no, no! This was not happening. Margaret jerked her head sideways and glared at Roland's neck."_He_ did that to you?!"

"His name is Curt."

"Bloody hell, Roland!" Jamming on her brakes, she screeched through the adjacent lane of traffic and skidded to a stop on the side of the road, haphazardly cutting off a string of cars behind her. "That was just a childish infatuation! I thought you outgrew it!"

"Why would you think that? We love each other. It's not some infatuation we're gonna grow out of."

"Don't say that! No son of mine is going to love another boy!" Seeing red, Margaret felt jolts of adrenaline coursing through her veins. "You don't love him! You can't!"

"But I do. I'm gay, Mum. Why can't you accept it?"

"Jesus Christ! You're NOT gay!" Her fists suddenly raining down onto the steering wheel in frenzied succession, she couldn't seem to stop. "Don't ever say that again, Roland! You're not gay!"

Roland wrinkled up his forehead. Squinting at the brutal beating unmistakably meant for himself, he thought of the injuries Gary inflicted on Curt and realized his own mother didn't need a boyfriend to do her dirty work. Hey, only a fool would stick around long enough to find out exactly how much damage she could do to him, right? Roland reached down for the handle and flung the car door open before he knew what he was doing, spilling out onto the sidewalk in a lanky heap. Dashing away from the scene of the would-be crime as though his life depended on it, he picked up his pace and didn't look back.

. . . . .

Curt moped around in his room after Shaun left, quite annoyed with himself for letting his mum take over his thoughts. Barring her from his mind had worked so well for such a long time, but the self-preserving tactic vanished once his brother's news began to sink in. Still resenting her presence in his head, he changed shirts and laced up his trainers. Might as well head for the park a little early.

"Off to visit your brother?" Tania asked when they crossed paths near the front door. 

Catherine sprayed furniture polish on another section of the banister in the foyer and rubbed it in, imperceptibly shaking her head 'no.' Curt never went to his brother's flat on Sunday. And now that he popped in to see him that morning, she knew why. He only took his boyfriend there when Shaun was at work!

"Nah, just gonna hang with Roland at the park for awhile." Curt glanced up at the gathering rain clouds and grabbed an umbrella from the bin on his way out. "See ya, guys."

Catherine admired her shiny banister, smiling at Tania as she started across the hall for her afternoon piano practice. Sweet, sweet girl. Wake up, Tania! 

. . . . .

"Hey, you're early." Curt reached out for Roland's hand, pulling his boyfriend down to sit by him under their tree. "We always meet here at two on Sundays."

Roland leaned on Curt and kissed him. "I don't even know what time it is. I can't find my watch." 

"Jeez, your heart's beating a mile a minute. What'd you do? Run the whole way?"

"Uh-huh. My mum wants to kill me, so I escaped out of the car and took off."

"Kill you?!" One side of Curt 's mouth drooped into a half-frown. "She hardly talks to you." Digging in his pocket, he retrieved Roland's watch and held it up. 

"You've got it! Where was it?"

"You left it at Shaun's. He came over to talk to me this morning. Seems I'm having mum issues, too."

"Like what?"

Curt studied the patch of clover sprouting near his leg for a long moment, still not believing the words he finally uttered. "Mine's dying." 

"Oh, my God." Roland finished fastening his watch on his wrist and snapped his head back up. "What happened?"

"Cancer. The doctors don't know how much longer she has." 

"Jesus, Curt. I'm so sorry." 

"It just hurts, you know?" Falling into Roland's arms when he opened them, Curt collapsed against his body. "Not that she's dying, but that she . . . never even . . ." 

"I know, baby." Roland tightened his grasp around him. "She never even tries to communicate with you now. I know it hurts."

Curt hung onto Roland, the funk he'd descended into earlier that day nagging at his soul. Didn't they deserve mothers who loved them unconditionally? Why did choosing each other ensure they'd never possess the one thing they craved? It was all so unfair. Slowly shaking his head, he looked up and kissed Roland's lips. "So what's wrong with your mum? How come she wants to kill you?"

"Well, it's complicated." Roland took a deep breath, hesitating for effect. "You see, I have this boyfriend who likes to leave hickeys all over me. Apparently, she's got a problem with that."

"Fuck, I didn't mean to get you in trouble, baby. Sorry."

"Don't be. I'm not. She just can't handle me being gay, and that's never gonna change." 

"God, how'd we end up with these lousy excuses for mums?"

Roland's mouth curved into a tiny grin. "I think we both know the answer to that."

"They can't accept us for who we are. That's so fucking messed up." Curt draped his arms over Roland's shoulders, scooting him around to lean backward against his chest. "It's you and me against the world, Ro. Just like always."

Roland tipped his head forward while Curt left little kisses on the nape of his neck. Tingling all over, he gazed at the ground, the intense love he felt for his boyfriend overflowing out of his heart. "Curt?" he whispered, plucking the rare gift of nature he'd just spotted from the grass and holding it up. "Look what I found."

"A four-leaf clover!" Curt took it from him and twirled it in the air. "Hey, it's an omen! Maybe our luck's gonna change."

"It can't get any worse." Laughing because he didn't want to cry, Roland clutched Curt's forearm resting across his collarbone. "All I know is I'm lucky to have you. You're my four-leaf clover." 

"And you're mine." Curt held onto Roland, snug in the outdoor sanctuary they'd made for themselves under their tree. Content to sit there all day, he guessed the good luck charm lodged between his fingers had no power when it came to the weather. He looked up at an ominous grey sky just as the first drops of rain began to fall. "Damn. We better get going." 

"But I can't go home yet. Seriously, Curt. My mum went ballistic in the car 'cause it wasn't _my new girlfriend_ giving me a promise ring and sucking on my neck. I can't deal with that right now." 

"Girlfriend?!" Curt shuddered, a comical grimace spreading across his features. When had Mrs. O become a certifiably crazy person? He reached for his umbrella as they climbed to their feet, opening it over their heads and slinging an arm behind Roland's waist. "Come on. We'll figure it out. We always figure shit out."

. . . . .

Catherine gave Roland the casserole pan she'd just scoured and rinsed, smiling at him when he started to dry it. Then she glanced over at her regular cleanup partner, who was loading the last plate into the dishwasher. "Thanks for helping us, Ro. We're done already." 

"No problem." Roland smiled back at her. "The chicken was yummy. Thank you for feeding me."

Curt closed the dishwasher and wiped his hands on his jeans. "Everything she makes is yummy." He took the pan from Roland and shelved it in an upper cabinet, coming back to peck Catherine's cheek. "Thanks for dinner. See you tomorrow." 

"You're welcome, dear."

Roland followed Curt to his room and plopped down onto the corner easy chair while his boyfriend thumbed through his albums. He laughed when Curt turned around holding up his favorites. 

"Blue Oyster Cult or Led Zeppelin? What are you laughing at?"

"You never give us any other choices. You know I always say Led Zeppelin, so why do you even ask?"

Curt stuck his tongue out at Roland and put the LP on his turntable, shuffling over and falling into his lap. Cuddling and kissing during the first three tracks, they untangled themselves just in time to take a breath and start singing along to the one they liked best. They would have heard the doorbell if they hadn't been full-out harmonizing with Robert Plant.

Tania let Carlos in, grinning as he peered up toward Curt's bedroom. 

"Ro's here, too?"

"Uh-huh. Don't they sound good? I love Stairway to Heaven."

"Killer song. Let's go tell 'em to start it over." Carlos gave Tania a hug before they climbed the stairs and were invited into the Led Zeppelin concert, sitting cross-legged with her on the foot of Curt's bed while he and Roland slumped in one chair. Laughing and talking with his friends, Carlos couldn't think of a better end to his day. 

It wasn't until Roland divulged the details of their mum's earlier meltdown and Curt assured him once again he could sleep on the couch in the den that he unwittingly sealed his brother's fate. 

"Don't worry, baby. When Joseph gets home, we'll ask him if you can stay until things cool down at your house." Curt kissed the side of Roland's face. "I told you he'll be fine with it." 

Tania nodded. "Yeah, I'm sure Papa won't mind."

Carlos took a minute to process what he was hearing and then shook his head. "Okay, Mum's just being ridiculous, Ro. What are you gonna do? Hide out over here indefinitely 'cause you're scared to face her? We'll go home together and I'll straighten her ass out. She's mistreated you for the last time!"

. . . . .

Roland trailed Carlos into the house two hours later, not entirely convinced his strategy would work but willing to give it a try. Avoiding his mum at all costs, he hung back in Carlos's shadow and braced for the fallout.

Carlos made a beeline over to Margaret, who was immersed in her book on the sofa. "Aren't you about done with this nonsense by now?" he started, towering above her. "Ro told me what happened, and I think you're totally out of line. He doesn't deserve the wrath of your stupid antiquated beliefs! Jesus, Mum!"

Opening her mouth to respond, she held her tongue when Carlos kept going.

"So he's gay. It's not the end of the world. You've gotta quit being so homophobic and realize-"

"Relax, Carl." Margaret set her novel on the coffee table and stood up. "You're right, of course." Inching closer to her middle son, she looked at him with kind eyes. "I've been waiting for you to come home, Roland, so I can apologize. I overreacted this morning in the worst way, and I'm sorry."

Tearing his gaze from the floor, Roland slowly lifted his head. "Really?"

"Really. I've thought about it all day, and I know I need to revise my outdated attitudes about this. You're still my son and I love you. I'd give anything to take back that atrocious outburst. Can you ever forgive me?"

Roland glanced at Carlos and saw him nodding up and down. He knew his nervous mum was waiting for an answer. "Um . . . I guess so," he drawled, skeptical of her outstretched arms.

"You're not too big for me to hug you, you know." Wrapping him in a tight embrace, Margaret breathed a sigh of relief. Phase One: complete. Confident the rest of her plan would go as smoothly, she kissed his forehead. "Let's start over with a clean slate, shall we? Your old mum is gone. You've got a new and improved, open-minded one now. How does that sound?"

"O-kaaay?" Roland's brain hurt. Exhausted from the day's turmoil, he wanted nothing more than to lay his head on his pillow and check out. "I'm pretty tired. I'm just gonna go to bed now, alright?"

"I think we can all use a good rest and wake up tomorrow with this behind us." Margaret smiled to herself after Roland yawned and plodded into the kitchen. Stand by for Phase Two. Hoping she'd mixed enough of her crushed-up sleeping pills into the milk he grabbed from the fridge, she looked back at Carlos. "Thank you, Carl. I needed that."

"You're gonna lose him if you don't change." Carlos turned and headed off to bed, his workday only a couple of dreams away. 

Margaret watched while Roland gulped right out of the bottle, just as she knew he would. Maybe she could pay extra for the therapists at A BETTER PATH to break him of that habit, too! Figuring she had about twenty minutes to kill when he waved good-night and disappeared down the hall, she settled back onto the sofa and picked up her book. 

As if she could even think of reading! 

Spending the time mentally going over her elaborate scheme yet again, Margaret finally tiptoed up to Roland's bedside. She shook his arm over and over to rouse him from the trance-like slumber he'd fallen into, whispering close to his ear as he stirred. "Ro, it's Curt. He just called and said he's hurt. Come on. I'll take you to him."

"Curt?"

"Shh. Quiet." She didn't need Carlos catching her and ruining everything. "Let's go. We have to hurry." Helping him sit up, she put Roland's shoes on his feet. Then she pulled him out of the house and into her car.

Barely coherent, Roland rubbed his eyes when Margaret started the engine. Why couldn't he stay awake? "Where's Curt?" he mumbled, slouching in the seat and promptly drifting back to sleep.

. . . . .

Curt was restless. He couldn't pinpoint the exact cause, but something didn't feel right. Roaming the house, he tried to watch a little TV, abandoning that idea after clicking through all the programs and remembering what a barren wasteland the airwaves were on Sunday nights. He just wished Roland would call and tell him Carlos had talked some sense into their mum.

Finding himself at the piano a few minutes later, he carefully lifted the four-leaf clover out of his shirt pocket, his thoughts wandering back to earlier that day in the park. Oh, how badly he'd wanted to stay there under their tree, secluded from the rest of the world but-- fucking rain!

Curt closed his eyes, smiling at Roland's image while his bass clef melody floated round and round in his brain. Placing his right hand on the piano, he tinkered with the accompanying treble clef notes until he finally worked them out, softly singing to his boyfriend. 

"I wanted to be with you alone, and talk about the weather . . ."

(Many thanks to the talented tffhoneymoom on Instagram for this beautiful drawing)


	14. Chapter 14

*WARNING: THIS CHAPTER CONTAINS VIOLENCE AND CRUELTY AND HOMOPHOBIC CONTENT*

CHAPTER FOURTEEN - I CAN'T STOP THEM

Margaret turned down a one-lane dirt road on the outskirts of town, slowing her car and switching on its high beam headlights for better visibility. Then she grabbed the pamphlet her friend from church had given her that afternoon and scanned the map on the back of it. Ah, almost there! Dropping the brochure in her lap, she glimpsed over at Roland and sighed. Surely, he'd thank her when this was all said and done. When he finally kissed this deviant period of his life good-bye. Right?

Soon finding a quiet, nondescript building in the desolate area, Margaret remembered the instructions she'd received on the phone while arranging for Roland's admittance to the program. Park next to the south entrance, ring the buzzer three times, hand your loved one's suitcase and payment to the intake personnel, and keep farewells short and sweet. Check, check, check, and no problem. Giving her name through the panel, she found herself face-to-face with a bespectacled whitecoat after he dismantled the alarm and opened the door.

"Where's . . . uh . . .?" Combing the immediate premises, he nodded as she pointed to her car. "Oh. Heavy sleeper. Happens all the time. I'm Andrew. I'll just help . . .?"

"Roland." Margaret paused for a second. God, what was she doing? "He's only fifteen. I'm not so sure if this--"

"I'll just help Roland inside." Andrew pasted on his professional smile and got to work. "No need to fret, ma'am. His age is actually a plus. We find our rates of conversion to be the highest in younger candidates. I think you'll be very pleased with the results."

Margaret attempted to swallow her doubt, forking over the cheque when he held out his hand. Watching him pocket the bank note, she walked back to her car with him and reached for the duffel bag she'd packed and stowed in the boot long before Roland came home with Carlos. "I guess this is all he needs? Clothes and toiletries?"

"That's all he needs." Andrew hoisted the bag over his shoulder and opened the front passenger door. "I'll bring him to his room and--" Peering down at the knocked-out teenager, he bit back a laugh. "And let him sleep this off. We'll start his sessions tomorrow." Easing him out of the car, he stood Roland on his feet and caught him just before he crumbled to the ground. "Come on, big guy. I've got you." Practically carrying his new charge into the facility, he turned around when the lad's mum started to stammer.

"Ro . . . Roland. He's, um . . . uh, he's . . . sensitive."

"He'll be fine." Forcing himself to smile again, Andrew wanted to scream. _He's sensitive. He's artistic. Unique. Special._ Why couldn't the families of these kids ever call a spade a spade? They were little faggots. That's what they were. Well, there'd be one less homo walking the streets when A BETTER PATH was done with Roland. "We'll let you know when he's ready for family counseling. Usually by the end of the first week."

. . . . .

Joseph finally found his way into the kitchen on Monday afternoon, having slept in after a particularly grueling two-gig Sunday night. Gazing out the window while his daughter tore through Beethoven's Fur Elise like a pro, he covered a gaping yawn with his hand and fought the urge to loll in his garden hammock all day. If only his musician's hours jibed a little better with his parental responsibilities! Tania was about to begin Sixth Form, and she needed a completely different style of dress than she'd worn in previous years. Not to mention Curt's insanely rapid growth spurt. He'd seemed to mature before Joseph's very eyes that summer, guaranteeing his old uniforms weren't going to fit him in Year Eleven. Then there were all the books and supplies both teens needed by the first day of school . . .

Yawning one more time, Joseph caught Catherine on her way to the kitchen stairs clutching a bundle of freshly washed and folded bed sheets. "Can you send Curt down to talk to me? I think I'll take him and Tania back-to-school shopping as soon as she finishes practicing."

Catherine chuckled. A sly little chuckle that escaped before she could rein it in. "Oh, I'm afraid he's gone, Maestro." She gestured toward the clock above the breakfast nook. "It's already one-thirty. On a Monday. You know, the day _after_ his brother's day off. The one day of the week he can't get to Shaun's flat fast enough because he never takes Roland there when his brother's home. The day--"

"I . . . I get it, Catherine." Joseph held his palms up in front of his chest. He may have cut her off mid-sentence, but he was silently finishing her thought: The day he falls into bed with his boyfriend, both clinging to the other's body after a miserable twenty-four hours of going without. Absorbing Catherine's faint grin, Joseph responded with a little smile of his own. "I know what they're doing over there. I was a fifteen-year-old boy once."

"I figured it out yesterday when Shaun came to see him."

Joseph nodded. That's when he'd seen the light, too. "They really love each other. I can't stop them." A trace of wistfulness in his voice, he remembered all the nights he'd lain awake, the sweet promise of his first love's kiss playing on his lips. "I don't . . . I don't want to stop them."

. . . . .

Curt only wished he'd fallen onto the futon with his boyfriend, clinging to his unclothed body after a miserable twenty-four hours of going without. Instead, he was standing in his brother's driveway, watching his flatmate wrestle a large box full of his possessions toward his car. Scouting around for Roland after they'd evidently gotten their signals crossed and missed each other in the park, Curt eyed the unexpected scene he walked up on. "Hey, Trevor. How's it going?"

"Hi, Curt." Trevor ducked down and pushed the heavy box onto his backseat. "Just, uh, getting ready to move out."

"Whoa. Really?"

"Uh-huh. Unfortunately."

Curt looked over his shoulder when Shaun came out with two smaller boxes stacked in his arms.

"Bro. What's up? You okay?"

"Yeah, I'm fine. Just . . ." _thought I was gonna spend the day here alone with my boyfriend,_ Curt's mind kept going. _Guess that ain't gonna happen now with you guys home._ He tried to nix the frown tugging on the corners of his mouth. "You gotta move out?" he asked Trevor while Shaun shoved his boxes into the car.

"Yup. Got fired last night. I can't pay my share of the expenses, so I'm going back home until I find another job."

"Damn. That sucks."

Shaun straightened up and peered at his brother. "No shit. I've got till the end of the month to find a new flatmate or else I'm gonna have to move back home, too. I can't afford this place by myself."

Great. Poker face firmly embedded on his features, Curt was already mourning the loss of privacy he and Roland would suffer. He glanced down the street again, waiting for him to round the corner any minute.

"Come on. You can help us with these boxes. Trevor's got a ton of stuff."

. . . . .

Roland woke with a start. To the sound of a stranger barking his name. In a room he'd never seen before. On a bed that wasn't his.

"Let's go, Roland! No more dawdling!"

His pulse racing, he sat up, blinking a few times while he took in his sparse surroundings. What kind of inadequate medical center was this? Staring at the white-coated doctor type with the drill sergeant voice, he scratched his head. "Um, how's Curt? Can I see him now?"

Andrew groaned, looking forward to the day this sissy-boy spouted 'Curt who?' He pushed his thick glasses up on his nose and harrumphed, pointing to Roland's duffel bag on the floor. "Get dressed. Your therapy begins in half an hour."

"My _what?_ I'm here for Curt Smith. I guess I dozed off or something while I was waiting. Where is he?"

"You're here for you. Nobody else. I'll be back shortly to take you to the kitchen for a quick bite before you get started."

"But Curt--" Roland shut up when the gruffest doctor he'd ever run across turned and walked out the door. He didn't panic until he heard him locking it from the outside. Bolting off the army barracks-like cot, he ran over and jiggled the knob back and forth. "Hey! Let me outta here!" he screamed. "What are you doing?! Let me out!"

Continuing to yell in vain a few minutes longer, he finally checked around and discovered another door near the corner. Thank God it was the loo as he'd never needed to pee so badly in life. Standing there emptying his bladder, he grappled with the haze in his brain, the one thing he knew for certain floating to the surface again and again: His mum said Curt had been hurt.

Roland washed his hands and face and dug through the neatly folded clothes she must have packed for him. Nothing made any sense, yet he was happy to find his toothbrush and toothpaste in a side pocket of his duffel bag. Throwing on some jeans and a tee shirt, his mouth minty fresh and ready for Curt, he stuffed his sweats in his bag and waited for the doctor to return.

"Leave your bag here. This is your room."

Jesus! Somebody spot Dr. Gruff Ass a clue! Roland tightened his grasp on his duffel bag and looked him in the eye. "I don't want a room. I want to see my boyfriend. He's hurt. This is a clinic, right?"

Andrew shook his head. They were going to have their work cut out for them with this kid. "You're starving, aren't you?"

Roland sighed. "Uh-huh."

"Leave your things here and follow me."

The quick bite turned out to be a banana because, as Roland learned while scarfing it down in the kitchen, he'd slept through both breakfast and lunch. Dr. Gruff Ass turned out to be no doctor at all, as he was also informed, only a counselor named Andrew who'd been assigned to show him the ropes in his new environment. And, in what turned out to be the most maddening news of all, Curt was not then and never had been in the place.

Thoroughly confused, and now irate, Roland was led down a hallway toward another counselor's office, where, Andrew said, he'd get all of his questions answered. Being handed over to an extremely unattractive old woman before Andrew disappeared, his litany of queries was promptly reduced to one. How the hell do I get out of here?!

"Have a seat, Roland." Pointing to her sofa, Cinderella's ugly stepmother sat in a chair facing it, her permanent glower not budging an inch. "I'm sure you're wondering what you're doing here at A BETTER PATH, so I'll dispense with the small talk and get right to it. Our program is designed to rid you of the undesirable aspects of your personality and reintegrate you into society with a newfound admiration for and attraction to the opposite sex. By committing yourself to the various behavior modification techniques we use to achieve this goal, the sinfulness you've chosen to engage in can become a thing of the past and you-"

"Christ! This is about me being gay?" Roland's face twisted in disbelief as he leapt off the couch. "I don't really know why my mum brought me here, but this is a mistake. I'll just be going now." Hurrying to the door, he shuddered to himself when he found it wouldn't open. "What is it with you people and all these locked doors? You can't keep me here against my will."

"That's where you're wrong, young man." The wrinkled up hag looked at him and sneered. "Your mother brought you here because she wants you to replace your evil ways with more appropriate heterosexual norms. You can make it easy on yourself and readily alter your behavior patterns, or you can fight it and face the consequences. Your choice." Pointing to the couch again, she waited for him to sit back down. "That's better. You'll earn the privilege of moving about freely between therapy sessions and staying in an unlocked room when we see that you're cooperating with the counselors and making real changes. Until then, Andrew will guide you through your day and keep you on track."

"So I'm a fucking prisoner?! You've got to be joking."

"That's up to you. Like I said, when we see you're making progress in the program you'll be granted more and more freedoms. You're going to join a group therapy session now to get you started, but before you go I want you to take this . . ." She pulled an elastic band out of her pocket and held it up. ". . . and slip it around your wrist. Whenever you have a sinful thought, you'll flick yourself with the rubber band and that way you'll associate the depravity with a momentary flash of pain. It's just a simple technique to condition your mind to the differences in ideas you need to form."

"A rubber band is gonna turn me straight. Okay, then." Snatching it from her just so he could leave her dreary office and find an exit to the outside world, Roland put it on and yanked the stupid thing back as far as it would go and flicked his wrist. Then he did it again. And again. Staring her down, he stung himself over and over. "Oops. I can't stop thinking about my boyfriend. All these thoughts . . . they're so depraved . . ."

"This is funny to you?" Not amused, she rose from her chair.

"Ridiculously so. What a stellar approach to altering my inherent nature." Still flicking his wrist, he scoffed. "I'm gonna fall in love with the first girl I see the minute I walk out of here."

The wicked witch of the West Country opened her desk drawer and pressed a button while he continued to mock her. "I'd hoped you were smarter than this, Roland." Raising her eyebrows at Andrew when he unlocked the door from the other side, she waved a hand toward the impertinent lad on her couch. "Solitary. Get him out of here."

. . . . .

Curt hung around with his brother after Trevor drove off, mostly glancing at his watch and looking out the window every five minutes. More than a little worried when his boyfriend never showed up, he rubbed his temples and audibly sighed. 

"God, you're antsy today." Shaun flipped through the TV channels, cursing at one afternoon soap opera after another. "What's wrong with you?"

"I don't know. I think I'm just gonna head out. See ya."

Making his way back to the park, Curt battled a sense of unease that only grew stronger when he realized Roland was nowhere in sight. He hadn't been to his house in forever, but he soon turned up on his porch, jamming his finger into the bell like an impatient fool. Picturing himself wringing Roland's neck as soon as he answered the door and proved he was alright, Curt closed his eyes.

He stood nose to nose with Roland's mum upon opening them. Both caught off guard, Margaret hardly recognized the lad who now equaled her in height. An awkward silence hung in the air while she looked him over from head to toe.

Curt ran a hand through his shaggy hair. "H . . . hi, Mrs. O."

"Curt." _This_ was the boy she recalled as Roland's best friend? The one with whom he'd fill her house with music and invite to stay for dinner? She gazed at Curt and flashed back to the day two diminutive thirteen-year-olds conned her into letting them wash her car for a few quid each, only to wind up drenching one another with the hose like a couple of toddlers. 

"Is Roland here?"

"No, he isn't." Margaret started to close the door, and with it her memories of a simpler time.

"Where is he? I just wanted to talk to him."

"He's . . . with relatives. Out of town. He'll be gone for awhile."

"Out of town? He didn't tell me he was going anywhere." Curt squinted at her sideways. What was this curveball she threw at him? "Is there a phone number where I can reach him?"

"No."

"But school starts next Monday. He'll be back by then, won't he?"

"Look, Curt." Margaret glared at him. "I think it's best if you just forget about Roland. He wants to get off this . . . this immoral path you two are on. He's already forgetting about you."

Curt's face contorted in pain. He practically doubled over as she went back inside and shut the door, the symbolic punch to his gut smarting like hell. Roland was gone without a word? And already forgetting about him? That last part couldn't be true, yet Mrs. O's searing judgement of them ripped him apart. Hanging his head, he stepped off Roland's porch, his heart in tatters by the time he'd wandered home.

He was still lying on his bed hours later when Joseph and Tania pulled into the garage, no closer to an answer as to why his boyfriend would go on a trip and not tell him than he was when he first heard it. Staring at the ceiling, Curt didn't exactly want any company. He told Joseph to come in anyway after he knocked.

"Oh!" Joseph entered Curt's room with several shopping bags in his hands. "Aren't you feeling well? What's wrong?"

Curt forced himself to sit up. He said, "I'm okay," but Joseph didn't buy it. 

"What is it, Curt? I'm here to help."

Biting his lip, Curt stalled for a long moment. "I don't know. I just got some pretty strange news today. And Roland's mum totally hates me."

Joseph laid his purchases on Curt's bureau. Then he came back and sat next to him on the bed. "What's this about? Why don't you start at the beginning?"

Curt took a deep breath. He shook his head as he let it out. "It's just that I couldn't find Roland today, so I went to his house looking for him. His mum said he's out of town with relatives, but he'd never take a trip and not tell me where he's going."

"That certainly doesn't sound like something Roland would do."

"It's like she wants to keep us apart. She said we're . . . immoral. And that Roland's forgetting about me. Her eyes were so cold, Joseph. She hates me. She really does."

"It's not you she hates." Joseph almost shivered as an eerie deja vu crept into the recesses of his mind. How many times had he encountered this very form of homophobia in his life? He looked at Curt, his face full of compassion. "It's the idea of you and Roland being together that she hates. Sadly, this world is full of people who can't accept a love that doesn't conform to their boundaries." He thought of Curt's own mum, along with her violent partner, at the same time Curt did, neither of them caring to go there right then. "But you and Roland are brave. You'll overcome these obstacles when you run into them. Together."

"That's what we always say. We can get through anything together. That's why I can't figure out how he could have left without saying good-bye. Something's off. I just know it."

Joseph reached out and squeezed Curt's shoulder. "It's only been a day, right? You were with him yesterday?"

"Uh-huh."

"Let's give him the benefit of the doubt. I'm sure he'll call and tell you what's going on as soon as he can. Roland loves you, Curt. He won't let you worry too long."

"He better not. I swear, I'm gonna kill him when he gets back."

"Remind me not to be around when you finally get your hands on him." Grinning, Joseph walked over to Curt's bureau and brought the shopping bags to him on the bed. "I wanted to take you with us to get new uniforms, but you were already gone. I ended up buying you shirts and slacks two sizes larger than the ones you wore last year. I'm pretty sure they'll fit."

Curt glanced through the new clothes, his gratitude welling up inside of him. "Thank you, Joseph. So much. You're always here for me. I'll never be able to repay you for . . . for _everything._ I really appreciate it."

"I know you do. You've got a brilliantly successful future ahead of you, Curt, but I'm happy to help you out now when you need it." Joseph patted his foster son on the back. "You know what else you need right now?"

"What?"

"A nice hot meal. Catherine fixed your favorite tonight. Let's go down for dinner, and I bet you hear from Roland before the night's over."

Joseph was right. Catherine's Beef Stroganoff filled the void in Curt's heart with warmth and made him smile. For about a half an hour. He ate two helpings and then cleaned the kitchen with her, all the while listening for a phone that never rang. By the time he'd pinned all his hopes on getting some information from Roland's brother, his insides physically ached. 

Curt sat on the bottom step in the foyer, winding his braids around his nervous fingers while he waited for Carlos's nightly visit with Tania. He jumped up and swung the door open when he heard his footsteps on the rosebush-lined front walkway. "There you are!"

"Hi, Curt." 

"Do you know where Roland is?"

"Um, no." Carlos wiped his shoes on the mat and went in. "I've been at work all day. Why?"

"I couldn't find him, and your mum told me he's with some out of town relatives when I went to your house. Who do you think they are?"

Carlos's blank expression spoke volumes. He hugged Tania when she came downstairs and kissed her cheek. "I don't know what she's talking about, Curt. We don't have any out of town relatives. Why'd she say that?"

"Oh, my God. I feel sick." Curt lowered himself onto the step again, his stomach knotting up as he buried his face in his hands. "I knew she was lying to me!"

. . . . .

Roland flinched at the sound of his heavy cell door unbolting and clanging open. He jerked his head away from the beam of light that shone in from the hallway and tried to shield his eyes. Although the handcuffs binding his wrists together made that rather difficult. Huddled in the corner of the eight by eight space, not knowing when or if he'd ever be let out, he peered up at Andrew and held his breath. 

"Okay, Roland. Come on." Andrew watched the teenager struggle to stand up. Glancing over his shoulder, lest anyone walk by and see, he reached out and helped him to his feet. "Let's go."

Following his minder out of the black hole and into a large room full of people, Roland's eyes darted around searching for a way to freedom. He sat on the folding chair Andrew showed him as everyone else found a seat, too, still scoping the place out for a door. He would have climbed through a window, if only one were to be found. Raising his hands, he pleaded with Andrew to uncuff him.

"Look, here's the deal. You seem like a nice enough kid, Roland. My advice is just do what you're told and let the program work with no resistance. Believe me, Stella doesn't play. Ordering three hours of solitary confinement for you was actually lenient. I've seen her throw guys in there for three days." Andrew checked the time and looked back at Roland. "Just sit here and listen to Phil's fifteen minute presentation, and then you've got ice treatment before supper and bed. Tomorrow will be easier. You'll understand what we're all about, and you'll be more acclimated to things."

Roland exhaled in misery, dropping his head. Mentally cussing Andrew out when he left him on the chair and walked away, he tried to find a painless position for his hands to rest in his lap. There wasn't one. Roland wished fucking Phil and his fucking presentation would end, the thought of his swollen wrists being released from bondage and iced down the only thing keeping him sane. 

Well, that and his visions of Curt. Roland imagined his boyfriend's arms holding him close while he cringed at the screwy psychobabble directed to him and his fellow sinners: Their evil homosexuality was a result of their broken youth. They could heal themselves of the awful stigma they carried by learning to control their behavior. Changing their sexual identity was possible if they just worked at it hard enough. On and on. Endless references to their destinies in hell unless they made conscious choices to alter the paths they were on. Thankfully, A BETTER PATH was there to help. Roland wanted to vomit.

He stood up when self-important Phil finally quit spewing his bullshit. Hoping to disappear into the group of guys mingling amongst themselves before their next therapy sessions, he wanted to roam unattended and locate a portal out of this nightmare. But Andrew showed up again and pointed to a smaller adjoining room, where he was instructed to sit at the table in front of a projector screen. _Now what?!_

Momentarily relieved as Andrew uncuffed him, Roland rubbed his sore wrists. Where was that ice treatment he'd been promised? And why had Andrew suddenly vanished? Roland snapped his head around and stared at the two massive oafs who burst into the room to replace him. Quaking in his seat, he prayed to a God he didn't believe in for his remains to be identifiable after they beat him to a pulp. 

. . . . .

Carlos dug the notebook paper Curt had scribbled his private number on out of his pocket and rushed into the kitchen to call him. He wasn't surprised when his brother's boyfriend answered in the middle of the first ring. 

"Carlos?"

"Yeah, it's me."

Curt's heart palpitated in his chest. He stood by his nightstand, gripping the phone. "What'd you find out?" 

"It's not good. I couldn't get my mum to tell me a damn thing, so I waited for her to get in the shower and then I snooped around in her room looking for any clue I could find."

"Aaaand . . .?"

"She had this brochure hidden in a drawer. I think she took Ro to one of those gay conversion therapy places. It says A BETTER PATH on it."

"What the fuck?!" Curt sat on his bed. Mrs. O was seriously losing it. "Gay conversion therapy?"

"They're really bad." Carlos listened to make sure the water was still running in the shower. "I think they lock the patients up like they're in jail. There's no phone number on this thing, but there's a map. I'm gonna drive up there and try to get Roland out."

"I'm going with you."

Carlos's forehead wrinkled up. "Prob'bly not a good idea. If they suspect you're his boyfriend--"

"I'll wait for you out front on the sidewalk. Hurry, Carl!"

. . . . .

Roland's hands were no longer bound together, for which he was grateful. They were, however, tied down to the table where he sat with tight belt-like straps, which was infinitely worse. Focusing on the images of beautiful heterosexual couples walking hand in hand projected onto the screen in front of him, he nodded in the affirmative, the pleasant smile tacked on his face a learned behavior that had taken all of four and a half minutes to get down pat. Hey, he wasn't labeled a genius for nothing!

Conversely, his muscles tensed and a stone-cold dread came over him as the images changed to a variety of males. Fresh faced twinks and burly bears and everyone in between, Roland winced at the different sets of guys parading around with their fingers laced together, obviously in love. Recoiling at the dirty pictures, there was nothing fake about the grimace he wore when both hulking goons walked over to the freezer. 

"Not the ice again!" he wailed. "Please! I get it now. Two guys together are evil. Sinful. Destined for hell!" Quivering like a scared rabbit, Roland watched them grab the five-pound blocks of ice once more, their rawhide gloves protecting their skin as they pressed the slabs onto the backs of his captive hands. "Goddamnit! Bring me a girl and I'll fuck her right here! I said I get it now!" 

"And don't you forget it!" Goon One warned. "Look at those bloody fags holding hands!" He pushed down on his ice block with just as much brute force as Goon Two exerted on his. "Look at them!"

Roland peered at the screen, a trickle of tears staining his cheeks. The universe narrowed to a single thought as the frigid pain punished his hands and tortured his soul. 

How much time would he do in _real_ prison for the premeditated murder of Margaret Orzabal?

(many thanks to TFFhoneymoom for this breathtaking edit)


End file.
